The Weaver Option
by Antony444
Summary: It is the 45th Millennium and the galaxy is dying. On the verge of victory over the Imperium, the Chaos forces have proven unable to stem the tide against the Great Devourer and its trillions of Tyranids. Only one option: cross the dimensions, find a hero able to triumph where billions have utterly failed and change the course of the past...
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

 _It is the 45th millennium._

 _For more than a hundred and fifty centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He was the master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He was a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He was the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls were sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die._

 _Yet even in his deathless state, the Emperor continued his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets crossed the daemon-infested miasma of the warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies gave battle in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst His soldiers were the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms were legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they were barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants - and worse._

 _To be a man in such times was to be one amongst untold billions. It was to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable. The power of technology and science was forgotten, never to be re-learned. The promise of progress and understanding was lost, for in the grim dark future there was only war. There was no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods._

 _As the light of the Astronomican declined, Black Crusades and millions of xenos took advantage of humanity weakness, fighting for the ruins of the fallen empire. In the end, the Holy World of Terra and the Golden Throne themselves were under siege. But the heretics, mutants, demons and xenos did not savour their approaching triumph for very long. The Great Devourer was here, and the galaxy fell to its unlimited appetite. Divided and sworn to selfish masters, the races of the Galaxy fell against the ultimate predators._

 _Hope died, and the galaxy was scourged of life. Yet in the final hours preceding the final defeat, a last gambit was attempted._

 _And the course of history would never be the same again._

The noise was infernal. Thousands of corrupted tanks of the Black Legion had opened fire at the same time, deafening any human or xenos stupid enough not to have thought of this. Hundred of thousand tons-weighted batteries followed the movement, snipers adjusted their targets with faster-than-light rounds. Shells fell upon the charred battlefield, leaving large craters.

It was a scene of apocalypse. The sky was covered in ashes. Spores and detritus landed in a nefarious rain, poisoning and corrupting the ground, spawning more horrors the ground. Corrupted Dreadnoughts unleashed their fury, pouring hundreds of heavy bolter rounds in seconds, recharging and then unleashing more. Large blasts of liquid promethium carbonised the living and the dead, the flamethrowers repeating their sinister task as fast as they could.

Like an implacable juggernaut, a lone Reaver Titan towered over the battlefield, crushing every ally and enemy who had the bad luck to meet its path. Weapons of unimaginable power flashed, dispensing death in an instant to entire sections of the plain. Valkyries fought in the sky with missiles, drowning their opponents with plasma when they came at close distance. Reality sundered as daemonic legions emerged from the Warp and tore up the frontiers of the material realm. Berserkers of Khorne charged in the murderous manner the servants of the Blood God were so renowned for. Horrors in service of Tzeentch invented and tested mind-bending sorceries on the fly, modifying the physics and the laws of nature to shatter the flesh in gory fragments. Viruses and lethal diseases so lethal they were able to destroy entire star systems were brought to the frontlines by the Nurgle worshippers. Waves of unbearable emotions and tortures were deployed by Slaanesh fanatical and drugged slaves. The Warp itself roared in fury, destroying reality in several places, bringing hordes of demons avid of more carnage.

And despite this, the enemy kept coming like there was no tomorrow. The swarm of the Tyranids had lost millions if not tens of millions organisms since the start of the assault, but with a relentless energy no sane commander could have ordered, the assault continued, soaking casualties like a dark wave, erasing traps by sending uncountable expendable members to their deaths. The simple warriors of the brood had attacked first, and were now filling in eight out of ten trenches with their corpses.

In the middle of this insane melee were the Astartes. Clad in their midnight battle armours, the Chaos Marines were a hurricane of destruction. Brandishing chainsaws, powered claws and swords fuelled with the most ignoble of sorceries, the legionaries ripped Genestealers, Termagant and Hormagaunts by the dozens with the help of their demonic weapons. The Tyranid Shrikes were pulverised by the thousands, the Gargoyles were annihilated, more macabre remains dispersing into the atmosphere.

"FOR ABADDON! FOR THE BLACK LEGION! FOR ARGGGHH..."

A legionary in the middle of a battlecry was literally skewered by a large blade come from nowhere. The chameleon-version of the Lictor had not the time to do more, as the Black legionary next to his unfortunate comrade seized this chance and torched the monstrosity in one long session of fire agony.

"UNDERGROUND! THEY ARE UNDERGROUND!"

The ranks of the Astartes momentarily stepped back, before planting with Warp sorcery more mines under their very feet. The others kept firing, vanishing the ranks of the Tyranids that tried to storm the redoubt.

"FOR THE WARMASTER! KILL THEM ALL!"

Deformed bolters and daemonic possessed weapons shot a torrent of pure death, ravaging close to three hundred tyranids. Two corrupted tanks which had remained silent until then added their fire to the ongoing massacre, making the piles of Tyranids corpses seven metres high. Then more incendiaries and spells were thrown away, creating a true wall of fire that should give the Black Legion half a minute to rest before the next assault on the fortified position.

Sorcerer Urus the Ingenious watched all of this from the heart of the bunker, buried kilometres under the surface where the clash of demons and Tyranids embraced everything. His long-range sorcery had remained surprisingly reliable so far to see what the enemy was planning, in spite of the Tyranids casting their much redoubtable shadow in the Great Ocean. Now, if only the Black Legion had the forces to do something about it...

"The Carnifexes are coming."

"How many?" Asked the warlord of the Black Legion he had sworn his sorcery and his skills to, Gavar the Murderer of Billions.

"Tens of thousands."

The answer of the Black Legion warband leader was a long series of insults, some that Urus would have sworn to Tzeentch in person he had never heard them before.

"So this is how it ends." There was no despair, just a simple agreement. "Our fleet, destroyed. Our armies, defeated. We are all going to become bio-mass for the Great Devourer."

"It is not like if we had the army to destroy Hive Fleet Sidious by ourselves."

Proof that Gavar had long arrived to the same conclusion as Urus, the Black commander simply nodded, in a move which made his skull-shaped helmet even more terrifying. Urus could not help but feel hints of relief and regret. Relief that Gavar was not going to grab him by the head and see if a former Thousands Sons legionary could survive without this appendage. Regret because when a bloody warmonger like the Murderer of Billions stayed away from the battlefield, it was really best not to be on the first lines.

"At least we cost the Hive Mind a lot of their bio-mass and transports."

The battleship and the three cruisers had made sure of that in their death, and there were denizens of the warp still fighting in the debris of the orbital stations.

"For all the good it will do." Grumbled Gavar. "They are covering the entire Galaxy. What a way to end the 45th millennium!"

Hive Fleet Sidious was an aberration of nature by itself. When compared to the size of the first Tyranid Hive Fleets detected, fought and vanquished in the 41st Millennium by the False Emperor lackeys or the xenos, Hive Fleet Sidious was ten times the size of Behemoth, Kraken and Leviathan. Combined.

It was already bad, but the fact that three other Hive Fleets of the same size if not bigger were attacking at the same time the galaxy made things outright desperate. The Black Legion, which had been on the verge of victory over the decrepit Imperium after the 48th Black Crusade, had been unable to withstand the assault.

Ultramar, conquered after annihilating nine out of ten Ultramarines, had been razed by the Great Devourer and its cohort of hungry slaves. Deliverance, Bakka, Ichar IV, Moloch, Baal, Solstice, Galen, Vanaheim, Molov, Valhalla, Tallarn. As many worlds which had cost the Black Legion millions of souls to devastate and occupy, only to lose them in a matter of weeks when the Hive Tyrants debarked.

The war band of Gavar the Murderer of Billions had rushed under the orders of the Warmaster himself on the Hive World of Neptunio Quintus to slow or at least delay a little the Tyranid ravaging thousands of worlds. It was no shame to admit the Great Company assigned to this task had utterly failed. The fleet had preceded the Tyranids by mere hours, leaving only few defences to hide behind when the servitors of the Great Devourer darkened the skies with their spores and astronomical numbers. Preparations and cultists adequate to defeat an ork warband or a tenacious xenos enemy were totally worthless to slow down a full Hive Fleet.

"Now, Urus, tell me you have a plan."

"My lord, I am unsure of what you want me to do. I can't open a Warp portal to escape-"

"I don't want to escape sorcerer! I want-"the turn of Gavar turned dangerous. "I want to crush them! I want to rip their souls, see the light fade in the eyes of the Hive Mind!"

Urus took a step back. Warlord or not, what his lord asked was completely impossible.

"My lord you don't need an army or a miracle. What you need, assuming it existed, would be a couple of hundreds Primarchs-Daemons and several thousand Bloodthirsters. Oh, and three hundred battleships."

 _At least_ , Urus didn't add. To defeat Hive Fleet Sidious. The defeat of the others Hive Fleets would require more resources, more warships, more Titanic Legions, more Astartes. It would require worlds with daemon help and huge depths of manpower to produce ammunition and fuel.

"Isn't it a bit pessimistic, Ingenious One?"

Urus felt something really unpleasant pass on his skin. The voice of Gavar wasn't the same anymore, his eyes were now a flashing blue and the aura surrounding his Mark VII-corrupted armour was showing clean signs of Warp possession. Summoning all its will not to be broken by the intensity of the Great Ocean coming, the sorcerer answered.

"No. It's not."

"The Architect of Change, as it happens, agrees with you."

That, Urus had not expected. Of course, given that it was certainly a daemon of Tzeentch reputed for the quality of his lies in front of him, a certain prudence was needed.

"What is the will of the Architect?"

"A ritual. The Great Changer requires a ritual."

"To do what exactly? Tear the planet in half? I think no ritual is needed for that. Give the Tyranids one hour, and the Great Devourer will have taken care of this world."

"Don't make you more stupid than you already are, Dumb Sorcerer." Retorted the demon with the distorted voice of Gavar. "Lord Tzeentch has no need to do a ritual for that."

"Why me? Why not Ahriman or the other senior Corvidae Sorcerers?"

"They are no longer in the material realm." Admitted with a shrug the daemon."You are."

The Black Legionary shivered at this implication. Ahriman of the Thousands Sons had been widely acknowledged as the most powerful Astartes sorcerer to have wandered the galaxy. To hear of his death was...disconcerting.

"Is it that bad?"

"Depends. Do you consider the Despoiler dead and the Tyranids before the Eternity Gate of Terra bad?"

No it was not bad. It was apocalyptically disastrous.

"The last battle between the Great Devourer and Chaos is about to begin." It was not a question.

"Indeed. Now gathers your servants. They have a final role in this story to play."

Half an hour later saw Urus outside a bloody eight-pointed star of Chaos. The blood was those of his servants, who had given their lives on the order of their master to fuel the ongoing ritual. As far the sorcerer could tell, the process was doing fine. For the moment. No one could be absolutely sure after all, with the daemons and the mysteries of the immaterium. A ray of murky violet light was illuminating the room of the bunker where the Great Ocean was pouring. An hurricane of power, fuelled by eighty-eight sacrifices and maintained by the will of an Astartes doted from psyker powers.

Nevertheless, the explanations of the demon having taken possessed Gavar body had been relatively straightforward. Emphasis on the relatively. It was a servant of Tzeentch here. According to the child of the warp, the goal of this incantation was to cross the barrier between dimensions and grab a Champion which would have the power to stop the multitude of Tyranids under the aegis of the Chaos Gods. Then send this prodigious being in the past, at a time where his influence allowed the Galaxy to prepare for the endless hordes.

It was complicated. The horrible mathematics hurt the former Thousands Sons eyes. Urus had no shame to know the exact specifics of this sorcery were far, far out of his league.

"Now!" Snarled the body of the warlord, with mannerisms remembering the mind of the Astartes was definitely not anymore available to command the flesh. "The Great Plan is going to be achieved! Execute the Weaver Option!"

"By your command." Answered Urus. Disobeying would have meant his instant demise plus a long eternity of torment for his soul in the empyrean, and it would have been for naught. The Tyranids had extinguished the best part of the Black Legion, and were now digging for the bunker, no doubt having an idea who their next meal was.

Activating the first spell in a whirlwind of blue and green with his hands, the Black sorcerer slowly started to pronounce a dark incantation in words hurting the very fabric of reality. Seconds after seconds, a dome of sorcery formed around the black vortex.

"Is the ritual proceeding to your expectations?" The sorcerer was straining under the effort, and despite his efforts to hide it, he was well aware how tired and strained his voice sounded.

"The power is-"

Gavar-or rather, the being speaking by Gavar's mouth, had not the occasion to finish the sentence. His head and the majority of his torso disintegrated in a red mist. Surprised, the Black Legionary managed to stabilise the spell in a miraculous feat of mind control. It didn't last.

One second after, it was the turn of Urus' right hand to vaporise itself, ending all possibilities to harness the raw strength of the Great Ocean. The dome of sorcery began to vanish, with the vortex becoming unstable. In this black and indigo colours merging in a torrent of energy, the Black sorcerer saw his end.

Struggling against the pain, Urus turned his head towards the shadows where the shots had come. Out of it, emerged a Space Marine wearing the hated blue armour, gold aquila and the infamous white omega symbol.

"An Ultramarine...I thought the Warmaster had killed you to the last."

"You were wrong." It was difficult to miss the satisfaction in the voice of the Corpse-God's follower.

"Have you any idea what you have done Son of Ultramar? This ritual could have saved humanity and the galaxy."

"You are wrong traitor." The tone employed by the descendant of Guilliman could have frozen a warm planet. "Nothing you kind of traitors can do will ever save humanity. The Inquisition knew the ritual the demon had in mind. Triumph of Chaos was the achievement searched, not saving the galaxy."

"And what are you going to do?" Urus laughed bitterly, feeling the gravity of his wounds worsen by the second. "Try your own ritual?"

"It's already done." Replied tranquilly the Ultramarine. "The Champion you searched has arrived in this universe and was sent in the past."

"You have expedited the ritual before we could attune his essence to chaos." Terrible understanding filled Urus mind. This changed everything. This was disastrous. This was-

The bolter, a magnificent work of ceramite and plasteel graved in gold and platinum, pointed directly towards his head. The Astartes sworn to Tzeentch looked in the eyes of his opponent and saw no justice or mercy. Just pure, unrestrained revenge and determination. The blue-armoured Space Marine had understood what destabilising the ritual meant for him...and had accepted it.

"Farewell. Traitor."

For the third time only in his long life, Urus the Ingenious of the Black Legion, once a proud Son of Magnus and loyal brother in arms of the Thousand Sons, felt true despair. The Warp distorted and broke apart the rift between dimensions, out of his reach and out of control. It did not a great deal of reflexion that no matter his personal fate, the end of the result was not going to be the one Tzeentch had wished for. Or maybe it was?

The sorcerer closed his eyes. The energies of the empyrean flooding the chamber. The sound of the bolter firing. Before everything came dark, a millennial battlecry arrived to his ears.

"FOR THE EMPEROR."


	2. Arrival 1-1 Shoot an Admiral

**Arrival 1.1**

 **Shoot an Admiral**

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Moros Sub-Sector**

 **Fay system**

 **Planet Fay III**

 **7.169.289M35**

" _On this day, the darkest of all heresies came to my world_!" Exalted Overlord Boris Byukur, 289M35.

 **Colonel Daviev Larkine**

"Thanks to your monumental incompetence, Admiral, the Orks have landed on our beautiful planet and are desecrating it as we speak. Are you content to be the man who let these foul xenos come unopposed?"

This sentence had been pronounced in a voice one might legitimately qualify as a falsetto, reflected Colonel Daviev Larkine. It really didn't help that the man owning this ridiculous voice was also morbidly obese by anyone having decent standards of weight. Unless his estimation was far off the mark, the repulsing creature sitting on the purple and gold throne was weighting more than two hundred kilograms, none of them of muscle. That the man wore tasteless robes of garish yellow-green ended the traumatising effect for every person present.

Not that anyone would have dared criticise these insults to the common sense. The man concerned was the planetary governor after all.

"With all due respect, Governor," Replied Admiral Telyon Lysyvev of the Fay System Defence Force in a note which failed to take into consideration the minimums of courtesy and respect, "the orks method of transportation was absolutely impossible to intercept with the few warships I have under my command. Their translation back from the warp was suicidal! You aren't supposed to come that close to a planet unless you want to crash! No pilot high on drugs would have done half the manoeuvres the orks did! It was not my fault!"

Enormous, planet-sized error.

The jowls of Exalted Overlord Boris Byukur, Governor of the Fay System in the name of the Imperium and by the Grace of the Emperor, went a red-purple in less than three seconds. His belly, already greasy and huge, inflated under the sudden pressure. Black eyes narrowed, an expression of pure loathing was shown, a frown marked the middle of the Governor's forehead and fists weak from decades of self-indulgence tightened.

"Are you implying it was MY fault, Admiral?" Screamed the Exalted Overlord. "Is that what you're implying?"

"No, no, no, Governor! I just wanted to say-"

"The excuses for your incompetence are as worthless as you are, Admiral." A reverse of a fat and oily hand chased the objections of the naval flag officer. To the assembly present, it was painfully and awfully clear Boris Byukur had made his mind, or what existed as such, about the end of this conversation.

"Shoot him. SHOOT HIM!"

Twenty members in the deep crimson of the Exalted Guard, who until then had stood against the walls in an uncomfortable position of attention, grabbed their lasguns and fired immediately at the maximum amount of power their weapons. Twenty beams of light directed at one target. One could have severed a limb or fried the muscles and organs of an unprotected soldier.

With one single person located in the no man's land between the Governor's purple-gold throne and the Fay Planetary Defence Forces senior officers, the Exalted guardsmen could have missed Admiral Lysyvev, but it would have required them to be awful in their range weapon skills or require very bad motivation.

It was not the case. Three lasers took the naval officer in the head, ten or twelve in the torso and the rest in the back or the legs.

Admiral Telyon Lysyvev's body stood immobile for a few seconds like the man's mind refused to acknowledge he was dead, before collapsing on the luxurious purple carpet covering the floor. By the looks of the blood pool expanding around the defunct admiral, the carpet was going to pass in the losses. Usually las-bolts cauterised the wounds if it was a glancing hit, but shoot a human ten or twenty times, and the cauterisation found its limits. And now, there was a lot of blood...

Half a dozen servitors raced in, grabbed the corpse, pushed it in a mortuary bag and dragged it out with the gestures of those long-trained for such activities. The Governor watched with piercing eyes the dark strain left on the carpet, before barking an order.

"Rear -Admiral Mikasev! You are promoted to the grade of Admiral and the commandment of the Fay System Defence Force, effective immediately!"

A young black-haired officer in the purple and black of the Fay SDF took a step forwards and saluted. His visage was shining with excitation, the death of his superior in all likelihood far off his thoughts.

"Thank you, Exalted Governor! I will not disappoint you!"

 _And what a promise that is_ , thought Colonel Larkine. Sooner or later, everyone disappointed the Exalted Overlord-Governor. That was simply a law of nature.

"See that you don't. Admiral." The threat was not even disguised. The former Rear-Admiral gulped visibly.

"Now that we're done dealing with the cowards and the traitors, let's talk of the xenos! General Syuev?"

"Thank you Exalted Overlord." Sweetly intervened the fourth highest graded military of the Fay Planetary Defence Forces, a man with greying hair and murky brown eyes. Noted to be a bootlicker of the greatest order, and have climbed his way on the top by arranging the 'mysterious disappearances' of anyone barring him the way.

"At the time we're speaking, the Orks have crashed their Space Hulk nearly one thousand and six hundred kilometres north of our position here in the capital.

They appear to be very heavy in vehicles, with a lot of scrapped Imperial tanks and warbikes. My analysts are certain this is one of the warbands who gave our brothers of the Guard so much trouble in the Petersburg campaign."

Larkine tried to remain calm and confident, but it was hard. If Syuev was correct, and the Colonel saw no reason why he wouldn't, it was these orks who had trashed his beloved regiment.

The Fay 20th Infantry had lost sixty-five percent of its numbers in fifty hours, and had been sent back home for reconstitution along the Fay 6th Infantry and the Fay 8th Infantry. Exceptional scenario, most regiments never seeing their homeworlds again in their lifetime, but the proximity of the Petersburg and Fay systems had convinced the powers-that-be to do the smart thing for once.

The General could at least have avoided to open the deep wounds again in public, though. The Emperor and the Golden Throne knew the bastard and all his other friends of the Fay III's high command had been delighted to point his failure again and again at every conference or military exercise. Similar faces on the other Colonels faces of the 6th and the 8th showed the Imperial commanders had arrived to the same line of thoughts. But with so many hostile PDF officers and administrators in the room, opening the mouth to protest was counter-indicated.

"Under the circumstances, the Planetary Defence infantry may not be sufficient to the task, even if our home regiments will fight twenty times better than the Guard on their home ground!" Gloated Syuev, pushing and ignoring the rules of military courtesy altogether.

"Thus we have formed the Fay Exalted Grand Army, a powerful and invincible mobile force which will crush swiftly these brutes! The plains of Tekov being the ideal staging point to exploit our aerial and machine superiority, we will attack there.

Recommendation of the General High Staff is to send the 1st, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, 11th, 15th, 18th, 19th, 27th, 28th, 29th and 48th regiments in this battle. The three Imperial regiments rebuilding their forces and the 78th and 79th infantry will cover the passes of the Ourazov Mountains to ensure the orks don't escape our trap."

Many colonels and majors in the rear of the officers assembly gasped. Not Larkine, although it was hard. The first seven mentioned formations were all Armoured PDF regiments. To be accurate, there were all the Armoured regiments on Fay III and the rest of the system for the time being, mustering between eight hundred and nine hundred Leman Russ Battle Tanks. The 11th and the 15th were the best Mechanised Infantry formations, with over three brand new Chimera vehicles. The 18th and the 19th were the best Artillery regiments, or at least the ones having the greatest numbers of Medusas Siege Tanks. The 27th was the sole Drop regiment formed. The 28th and the 29th were the only Aerial Regiments in the PDF's employ.

Only the 48th was understandable, it was the Heavy Infantry regiment in charge of the sector the orks currently infested.

To sum up, of the 200 PDF regiments existing on the ground of Fay III, the force just recommended took the best equipped soldiers on a mission where the odds of success could not be described as anything but poor. And General Syuev, dripping with self-satisfaction, had not finished speaking.

"I propose Exalted Marshal Ivan Byukur to command this force."

A round of applause automatically burst out, all the military men knowing that was what expected of them.

Colonel Larkine sighed inwardly. It would have been too much to ask for this force to be commanded by someone competent. Ivan Buykur, who advanced now in front of Exalted Overlord Boris Buykur, was the Governor's eldest and preferred son. Astoundingly fat at thirty Terran standard years of age, Ivan wore today a military costume purple and gold, a complete opposite of the standard grey-blue Fay uniform.

Daviev had heard of the rumours like every Fay soldier serving in the PDF or the military forces. Exalted Marshal Ivan Byukur, the man accused of seventeen rape accusations, and whose victims had never reappeared to the sun's light once they came to testify. These were the official ones; there must have been dozens more unreported, and he was one of the main reasons why the women of the Fay system served exclusively in the Imperial Guard and Navy, not in the PDF.

Ivan Byukur, the Butcher of Natitia, where he lost his entire Armoured Regiment against Natitian insurgents possessing nothing heavier than lascarbines. In the aftermath, the Nyx Sector Headquarters had to send five more regiments of much larger size to suppress a very minor rebellion, and Colonel Ivan Byukur had been dismissed from the Guard in disgrace, a large bribery ensuring the incompetent would never pass in court-martial.

And now his Governor father and the General Staff wanted to give him...fifteen regiments? Close to sixty-eight thousand men, given that the average Fay regiment had something like 4500 men under arms. The elite and best trained force of the planet, in the absence of the Fay men fighting somewhere in the stars of the Milky Way. Against the green xenos, a threat way more dangerous than humans. Larkine knew it, they had handed him his ass in the last battle before the other Guard regiments came to his help.

"Err...has an astropath call been made to the Nyx headquarters?" Asked timidly the colonel of the Fay 6th Infantry of the Guard. "I mean," the dishevelled man added precipitately, "this necessitates a change of strategy for the orks campaigns in the sector..."

Exalted Overlord Boris Byukur had nothing to say against this question, though it was obvious the colonel pretext didn't fool him a second. After a few moments, the obese Governor draped itself in his horrid clothes and readjusted his position on the throne.

"General?"

"The message will be sent as soon as this meeting is over." Promised Syuev.

"Good, good. Now give me the details of this campaign. I want to know everything."

And to the great chagrin of the advisors, colonels and nobles present, it was what happened. During several hours, the Exalted Overlord grilled his subordinates of all information. Colonel Larkine grimaced a lot of times before it was over. A commander -in-chief of a planet interested in helping his men fighting to victory would have been a great help, the issue was Boris Byukur was doing nothing of the sort. Under the symbol of the golden aquila, the Governor constantly argued the smallest details his generals gave him, countermanding reasonable orders, ordering change of millennia-old doctrine, criticising bitterly the initiatives of the most daring tank regiment masters. To make matters worse, there were no tac-displays, the explanations and their solutions generating more confusion.

Daviev had been convinced this campaign was going to be a disaster when the 'Exalted Idiot' had been named to command the war effort. When the father of the imbecile in question had finished translate his utter incompetence on the military field, any possibility of salvaging from this disaster had been kicked out.

Not that there was any opportunity to say it aloud if you valued your life. The Exalted Guards were patrolling along the walls, ready to execute any man, woman, xenos or mutant having the temerity to blemish the honour and the intelligence of the Governor. For the Emperor and with pleasure, of course.

Needless to say, the commanding officer of the Fay 20th Infantry of the Guard was breathing heavily in relief once the colonels were all authorised to leave and go back to their commands. A quick walk to the communications centre to pass the vox orders down to his second-in-command hundreds of kilometres away, before going to a local bar and finally filling out his aching stomach. The headquarters of the 20th near the Ourazov Mountains were over four hundreds kilometres for a bird, more for a land vehicle of the Imperium. Travelling to them was hardly a quick affair, better do it well fed.

Useless to hope for a Valkyrie transport, the Governor General Staff had not a good opinion of him. A feeling decidedly mutual, of course. His command Chimera and two regular vehicles for escort would have to do.

The outskirts of Great Landing, Fay III capital and most important city, were fairly calm at this late hour of the evening. It helped the news of the ork invasion were still kept secret. Moreover, one of the first acts taken by the tyrant known as Boris Byukur six months ago after rising to the planetary supreme power had been to establish a curfew and severe movement restrictions.

The blocky contour of villas and mansions progressively succeeded the few massive buildings the city had, before growing sparser after forty kilometres. Great Landing was the greatest city of Fay III with a large margin, but Larkine knew it was not a major hive of population galactic-wise. Overall, the Fay system was inhabited by less than two billion people, with most of the industry being in orbit or concentrated in the south where the mines were operated. On the northern part of the continent...there was a lot of grass. Mountains, too. A few villages of proud clansmen living there for generations. But overall it was lightly populated, although it may be subject to change with the orks arrival. A good thing, seeing that it meant civilian casualties were strongly reduced in such an environment.

Knowing the travel was going to take a certain amount of time on the under-developed roads, Colonel Daviev Larkine closed his eyes and tried to find some sleep. With the government of his planet flying from stupidity to sheer idiocy, he was going to need some rest.

A series of small shocks in the Chimera woke him all too soon. The road had become a path blasted with massive amounts of explosives, lightened by the first rays of the sun of the day. The pleasant green immensities had left their place to grey mountains and a stormy sky. The vegetation was consisting of small and ugly trees. Colds winds almost cut his breath when he went to the top of the transport to have a quick look at the landscape.

A small drink of amasec helped chase the torpor, as the small convoy progressed towards Ramev's Pass. By order of the General and the Exalted Overlord, the 20th was supposed defend this gap in the mountains against any ork pointing their green ugly skin in this direction.

It was hard to see why. Ramev's Pass was not exactly easy of access. At two thousand metres above the sea level and with only one twisting path going through it, an enemy force was going to be hard-pressed to exploit a victory. Especially as the maps and the surveyors had reported three or four dozen points behind where delaying tactics could be mounted.

More importantly, there were four large passes more accessible to reach Great Landing and the core centres of humanity presence on the planet. No ork worth the name was going to walk away in zones where the prospects of battle were decreasing. But orders were orders, and the Fay 20th would obey. That the orders were moronic was of no importance. The alternative was to face a firing squad.

Finally, the Chimera reached the 20th camp. Judging by the looks of things, his troops were busy accomplishing his initial orders, and the work had progressed at a satisfying pace.

Four concentric long trenches had been dug from the earth portion of the gap where there were no rocks, giving them a decent mount of protection from any northern attack force. These earthworks would do nothing against flyers, but at least the ground part was taking care of.

The mines, the turrets and the electrified wires were installed, they would provide killing grounds for his veterans' marksmen. With the orks having a lot of vehicles, the difficulties of the landscape and the elevation gain in the 20th favour, the xenos were going to have a hell of a fight, the Emperor willing. Larkine debarked from the transport at a slow, careful pace. A platoon was here to welcome him, led by Major Ilvyna Daten and Commissar Zuhev.

His least favourite people in the entire regiment. Colonel Larkine stopped his groan just in time.

Zuhev had not been the Regimental Commissar on the Petersburg Campaign. But fate and friendly fire had plagued the 20th dramatically on the frontlines, and his predecessor and five of the Company Commissars had not been there to assist to the death of the last ork. Daviev Larkine had not asked his troops why, and no one had bothered him to demand why Commissar Mulguv was missing a good part of his head's back.

Of course, the General Staff of Nyx, in all its destructive brilliance, had decided to promote Zuhev, former Commissar of the 4th Company. The best thing Larkine could say about the man was that he was an asshole and looked the part, with his tanned skin, dark eyes, grey hair and his bionic right eye. The Colonel knew in the looks of his men ninety-nine per-cent of them were ready to shoot him. Zuhev was one of these Commissars, who after the fighting was over drew a list of soldiers that had not performed to his standards of insane courage and mindless fanaticism. The biggest amount of casualties 4th Company had taken in the Petersburg Campaign were not from the orks, but from firing squads.

Major Ilvyna Daten was no better. In looks, his second-in-command was stunning; her blonde hair, innocent face, green eyes and muscled body combined to give her an appearance most hot-bloodied Imperium tankmen would not choose to sleep alone in their Leman Russ if she asked. Unfortunately, the Major was only attracted to girls. It would not have been so bad, if she hadn't made the 2nd company of the Fay 20th in her image during her tenure as their captain, and proved beyond doubt she was a heartless and cruel bitch towards men. Before joining the Imperial Guard it was rumoured Lady Daten, heiress of one of the noblest Fay families, had been well on her way to reach a body count with three digits. Climbing up the ranks in the Guard had not changed that. If the discipline and the performance of the women under her command had been less exemplar, Larkine would have shot her on the spot. But the Major was a competent leader of women, thus her eccentricities were tolerated. For the moment.

"Colonel."

"Major. Commissar."

None of the three were friends, so the pleasantries, salutes and courtesies were reduced to the strict minimum.

"Any signs of enemy presence?"

"Not the tiniest bit of green." Replied in a measured tone Major Daten. "But the last patrol of scouts will only come back in two standard hours. Plenty of time for the situation to change."

"Is it confirmed? The xenos have really landed on Fay?" The simple fact that Commissar Zuhev felt he had to pose the question told mountains of Governor Byukur's will to keep the invasion under wraps.

"Afraid so."

"Good." The Commissar smirked. "The blades sworn to the Emperor will soon cut and blast the loathsome xenos out of existence, as it should be. The Emperor Protects!"

"The Emperor Protects!" Repeated the Colonel and the Major. Though in the Major's case, it was mumbled and the woman rolled her eyes. Fortunately the Commissar, all in his religious fervour, did not realise what was for him a sacrilege.

"Our numbers?"

"The last wave of recruits arrived when you were at Landing, Colonel. Five hundred whiteshields girls and boys. We have now six out of the eight companies at full strength. Only 4th and 7th companies are a bit behind what the official board recommend. 4350 valid soldiers, three in permission at Luvev who are on their way right now and two in the infirmary. We have sixteen days of ammunition, twenty of spare parts and forty of supplies. There are a lot of rivers and sources of water nearby, drinking is not a problem."

"Good. The request for more transports and heavier weapons?"

"Denied, Colonel. General Syuev said, and I quote 'the PDF and the Exalted Marshal need these machines!' "

Larkine squashed the urge to take the regimental vox-caster and send insults to Syuev. It would make him feel better for a few seconds, but the consequences would be severe even if the PDF General was not formally in his chain of command.

"Where does that leave us, in machines and materials?" The commander of the Fay 20th demanded in an exasperated tone.

"Including the vehicles you came in Sir, we have now six Chimeras, four Taurox and ten Tauros. We have received two light Sentinels for scouting and reconnaissance efforts, and Captain Tel is amusing himself trying to rebuild the two old Basilisks we have in detached parts."

Major Daten didn't add it was not enough transportation for a tenth of the battalion if the battle turned ugly and they had to withdraw. Her superior had already understood it.

"Fine. It could be worse. Our orders are to hold the Gap against enemy attack. The Exalted Marshal wants to be the powered sword with his 'Grand Army', and we will be the armour plating where they will be trapped and broken. Any questions?"

"Who are we using to cover the gap once the work is completed?"

"The 1st and the 2nd companies, the 5th and the 6th for the next shift, then the 3rd and the 7th. Forget the 4th and the 8th, they need to train with all the replacements received the last week."

"Agreed-"

"Sir, Sir!" A panicked vox-operator sallied out of the ranks with a lack of composure the Imperium army did its best to erase from its whiteshields as soon as it enrolled them. From the looks the Commissar sent him, the young recruit was aware of it, but this awareness did not prevent him from shouting his message with all the powers in his young lungs.

"Lieutenant Masev is reporting alarming news on the vox-caster, Sir!"

The Colonel cursed. No doubt the grey eminences of Great Landing had decided in all their wisdom to create another genius plan. Fortunately, the vox-casters were not far from where they stood, and a rapid sprint found them near the communication centre in less than half a minute.

Masev, a young brown-haired man who had been promoted to the regimental command of the vox systems, was transpiring heavily in the tent hiding him and his material. And with reason. From the receivers mounted screams of agony. Here and there, shouts of defiance and orders came in a disordered fashion.

"They are too many!"

"Fire! Fire!"

"They got Ivan!"

"Half of our regiment is gone! We need artillery support now!"

"The third is overrun and the nineteenth has been flanked! For the Emperor!"

"Our batteries are gone! Retreat! Retreat!"

"This is the 28th Aerial Regiment of the Fay Planetary Defence Guard. Colonel Merskyn and all officers have fallen on Lance's Fervour. Regiment has been wiped out by the orks. Destroying the communications now. The Emperor protects."

And then there was only silence.

A long silence, which was broken by no one for a full minute. A silence that reigned in the improvised vox-caster station like the judgement of the God-Emperor himself. Trying to assimilate the news, Larkine cleared his throat.

"Lieutenant. How far from our positions were those signals?"

"Less than a hundred kilometres, Colonel. Our vox signal range is not precise in these mountains and-"

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Do your best to adjust the results, and contact headquarters to inform them of those news." Masev nodded vigorously, relieved his regiment commander wasn't going to shout at him for the bad news. Another time, in another life, Daviev Larkine might have had done so. But it was before meeting the orks. Before almost dying trampled by these fucking xenos respecting nothing but the biggest of their barbaric tribes.

Colonel Larkine turned around to regard Major Ilvyna Daten and Commissar Zuhev, whose respective postures had changed from calm to something looking like bloodthirstiness or cold-determination.

"There is no other pass in a range of fifty kilometres. I don't need a tactical display to know we are going to be attacked in the next twenty hours."

The orks were coming, that was a given. The orks were going to come for them and do what orks do best. War. Larkine bared his mouth in a smile showing his depleted white dentition.

"I think we need to remind these xenos there are on a planet of his Holy Majesty. Don't you Major?"

Ilvyna Daten answered by a predatory expression, making shiver the majority of the Fay men and women.

"Yes, Sir. With your permission, I am going to prepare a welcoming committee for them."

"By all means, do so."

The rest of the morning was just a cavalcade of preparations and last-minute adjusting in positions and weapons delivers. Paperwork, the greatest bane of the soldier, was thrown out, and the veterans started to sing the bloody songs preserved by the Imperium in thousands of years against the heretics and the xenos.

Finished the cleaning of the weapons and the boots until they shone and training to march in column. For the 20th, the assault was imminent and there was no time to be lost in such frivolities. The Chimeras were put in positions of fire support, the trenches and the defensives positions were completed at the maximum speed without botching the job. Larkine frowned more than once at seeing such minor works being tested against the greenskins, but necessity was a harsh mistress. With no siege machines and no demolition equipment, it was all the Fay Guard would have. All lasguns were recharged to their entire settings with what little sun managed to shred the grey clouds.

Drums. Loud drums and screams. In the horizon, something huge advanced. Something green. From the top of his command Chimera, Colonel Larkine tried to remain the very picture of confidence and calm. No doubt he utterly failed in that regard.

The only reason they were coming under assault was the assault of Byukur, the grand plan of the Exalted Marshal, was in ruins. Fifteen regiments were dead, providing meat and supplies for the orks. Fifteen regiments, all better equipped than his, and the 20th was not at full strength.

They needed an Emperor-sized miracle now. Otherwise they were all going to die.

Just as these dark thoughts crossed his mind, the eyes of Colonel Daviev Larkine were suddenly blinded by a massive column of light. There was no warning, no sound. Just an explosion of white, pure blinding light.

They were screams of "the Emperor protects!" and shouts of Larkine's officers pleading their men to remain calm and not shoot in any direction which might provoke a massacre.

Finally, the temporary blindness dissipated, letting everyone contemplate the state of their surroundings...and gasp.

In the middle of the camp, just before the command Chimera where Larkine stood, the grass was burnt and fuming in a circle.

"Throne of Holy Terra..."

In the middle of the circle stood a young woman in peculiar clothes the Colonel honestly could say he had never seen a similar fashion on Fay or the other planets he had visited.

 _Is she the answer of the Emperor?_

The woman, who had a look of someone just coming in adulthood, was tall. Close to 1m80 at a guess. Long black hair flowing freely in the cold wind of the mountains, a rather thin face with what looked like antic ocular devices. She was covered in a light grey cloth, with what looked suspiciously like armour in darker grey plates. A belt of light blue with an insect as emblem completed the uniform. More impressive, she had a light jump pack in her back.

And looked as disoriented as the rest of the regiment.

Commissar Zuhev was the first to react. Drawing his laspistol from his holster, the representative of the Commissariat pointed it right between the eyes of the woman...and pushed a scream before letting his weapon fall on the ground. Zuhev's hand, once open, revealed the black sting of a flea-vampire, one insect whose puncture was quite dolorous and preyed on the local livestock.

 _What in the name of the Emperor?_

Larkine cleared his throat, all the while ordering with forced gestures his soldiers to lower their weapons.

"Who are you?" The Fay 20th commanding officer asked the mysterious stranger.

"I am Weaver." The voice was definitely feminine, not xenos, and the hints of tension and confusion were clearly present. Perhaps it was a divine intervention...

"Er...Colonel?"

Larkine raised his eyes at Daten's intervention, and paled. Down below the valley was full of angry roars, the atrocious noises of motors pushed to their very limits, and the colours black and green. Especially green.

The orks were in position at the bottom of the slope, five hundred metres lower in altitude and a kilometre away, but too close for most of humanity's definition of 'safe'.

"TO ARMS! TO ARMS!"

And then the traditional warcry of the green waves rang out like a malediction in Ramev's Pass, shaking the mountains and destroying the audition of the humans having not covered their ears in time.

"WHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


	3. Arrival 1-2 The Swarm versus the Orks

**Arrival 1.2**

 **The Swarm versus the Orks**

 _To say the reputation of the Fay 20th Infantry of the Imperial Guard thorough the military forces of the Nyx Sector was poor when the Orks crashed in their home system would a considerable understatement of the truth. In the Petersburg Campaign, this particular regiment along with the Fay 8th and 6th Infantry had been severely mauled in a matter of days, its heavy equipment and two-thirds of its deployment effectives lost. Further humiliation, General Wu-Liu, in charge of this operations theatre, preferred sending back to Fay III the survivors rather than merge them in another Fay force, confirming without an official statement their poor fighting skills. Wu-Liu's probable intention was to put the maximum number of light-years between the crippled Fay units and any xenos threat, and forget their sub-optimal performance as soon as possible._

 _If it was the good general's plan, force was to assess it monumentally backfired. The Ork threat came to the Fay System in the habitual brutish manner of this loathsome race, and the Fay 20th Infantry found itself back to the frontlines despite being quite short in mechanised transports. If Lady Weaver had not started her illustrious career here, it is very likely the Fay 20th would have disappeared in the millions of records rooms signalling the destruction of an Imperial regiment. As it was, these soldiers did not go quietly in obscurity. Difficult to imagine that one hundred years later, no less than six generals of His Most Divine Majesty would demand Fay regiments to be transferred to their Sectors..._

By Retired General Tereyev, _The Ocean of War_ , 510M35.

 _Thought for the Day_ _: Do not ask "Why kill the alien?" rather ask, "Why not?"_

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Moros Sub-Sector**

 **Fay system**

 **Planet Fay III**

 **7.171.289M35**

 **Taylor Hebert**

There are some who say speed is everything in the world.

The greatest heroes became famous because of their speed. To fight super-villains, you have after all to catch them while they're doing their evil deeds, no?

Eidolon was able to use a multitude of teleportation and movers powers. Alexandria's ability to fly at supersonic speed had given the name to an entire sub-category of parahumans. Legend was able to turn into a freaking laser and reach light speeds. Hero had been renowned for his super-reactors and teleportation technology while he was alive.

And yet sometimes speed is not enough. Taylor knew it. As a warlord of Brockton Bay, she had killed Alexandria with nothing but insects, and speed hadn't saved the member of the Triumvirate. Nothing but instantaneous self-regeneration was useful when tens of thousands bugs crawled in your lungs.

But what happened if your enemy, despite being outclassed in speed, could take the maximum of punishment you deliver and continue to walk like nothing happened? What happened if this enemy chose targets independently of your actions, and proceeded to ravage everything at striking range while ignoring your own efforts? These questions, thousands of heroes and villains had asked them in the privacy of their own mind these last years. It was what everyone did when they went the Endbringer Behemoth. And now it was the time for New Delhi's defenders to despair.

Fourteen meters tall. An impenetrable gray skin covered in magma. A single, red glowing eye, shining in all its malevolence. A mouth lined by obsidian teeth which was nothing more than a weird gap, with the light of molten magma appearing at irregular intervals. A mountain of fury and destruction, having surged from the earth core to bring destruction and suffering.

But the most terrifying thing about the First Endbringer was not its appearance. It was its power. The one which had given him the name Herokiller.

Dynakinesis. Manipulation of all forms of energy. Lasers. Lightning. Fire. Shockwaves. Heat Generation or Redirection. Emitting more radiation than ten nuclear plants combined. Behemoth wasn't only killing the best and brightest of all the parahumans. The monster was destroying hope and made the entire battleground radioactive to such levels it would be centuries before a human ceased to be glowing in the dark when he visited the place.

Somehow, the ability to control all insects in an eight hundred meters range looked kind of ridiculous against this kind of threat. By comparison, in a radius of thirty meters, Behemoth had the power to incinerate every parahuman having not quasi-invulnerability. A true kill zone if there ever was one.

Taylor had been somehow frustrated when she had been affected with the Chicago Wards and her former super-villain team the Undersiders to the search-and-rescue efforts and the civilians' evacuation. No attack she had could damage something like an Endbringer, and the plan-making had been left to Accord and Tattletale. It was frustrating to search the rubble while your fellow heroes fought and died in increasing desperate attempts.

Despite knowing one in four participants of the Endbringer fights died on a good day, Taylor had had hope for this fight. Hundreds of parahumans had mustered to bring down the Herokiller. A new Protectorate. Perhaps the start of a new Age.

These hopes had rapidly burst in flames. On a good day, a quarter of the parahumans would never leave this battlefield alive. This was not a good day. The search-and-rescue had been cut short, as nothing the defensive force did had been able to do anything to slow Behemoth. Today, the support of the Chinese Yangban and the Indian parahumans had been so noticeable against Behemoth they could have sent confetti at the Endbringer.

And then without a second of warning everything had gone to hell.

The outer layers of Behemoth had been stripped from the monster. In dozen of engagements, no one had managed to hurt the Endbringer that much. Phir Se, the parahuman responsible for this monumental blast, had been killed when Behemoth burrowed to deal with him. In hindsight, the idea of hiding in an underground bunker was stupid when fighting a being able to swim in lakes of lava.

It had not slowed down the Herokiller. In fact, if anything, it seemed to have convinced the Endbringer to accelerate his agenda of pure, simple extermination. Radiation and blast of lightning had brought the apocalypse to India. Behemoth had charged the core of the defences, shrugging artillery, bombs and lethal strikes like they were toys, before unleashing its true fury. The lines of the Yangban had not resisted. The Chinese had been annihilated to the last parahuman.

Afterwards it had been the rest of the Protectorate heroes' turn. Blasts after blasts, Behemoth wiped the floor with them. New Delhi, capital of the Republic of India, was gone. Wiped out. The buildings had been torn apart from the highest buildings to the foundations. The civilians murdered in their homes or trying to escape. One of the largest cities in the world, gone in a matter of minutes.

The army of heroes and villains gathered had faced Behemoth with courage, bravery and the certitude they were the last rampart between an hurricane of death and the thousands, no, the hundreds of thousands civilians in their homes that had not fled in time.

Their efforts had been for naught. There were less than thirty parahumans left alive, and the area's radiation was so high that in the case they managed to escape all were going to need massive decontamination treatments.

Taylor had stopped her search of insects. They died too rapidly in this environment to be of much use. For all intent and purposes, the heroine named Weaver had become a normal human fighting to survive in this chaos. Only her new flying device made by Defiant and Dragon had allowed her to survive. Bruised and battered, but alive. Alive in a ruined temple that was suffering the relentless assaults of Behemoth.

Taylor was tired. Very tired. There were not many heroes left, and all were wounded to diverse degrees. More than ever the absence of Panacea was a huge black hole in their ranks. Parahumans that would have been in mere seconds in their top form were lying on the ground screaming in pain, asking for medical assistance. But there was none. And Behemoth kept coming. The Herokiller didn't stop. The parahumans dropped like flies.

There wasn't any organised resistance to stop the Endbringer anymore. The survivors had dispersed in the temple. Taylor had not failed to note half of the Chicago Wards and none of the Undersiders were present. Except Regent, she had not seen any of them die nor the usual automatic channels announce their death. Overloaded, most likely, by the magnitude of the losses. But grieving was for later. Tinkers were preparing their last devices and distributed the last rounds of ammunition. Powers were activated, plans Z were discussed and implemented.

This was their last stand.

"I am in the valley of death..." Shouted a villain who had lost his legs and was bleeding profusely. The sentence was never finished.

Behemoth roared and charged with a new massive shockwave attack.

 _So this how it ends..._

There was pain. And then there was only white and peace.

 _Is it all over?_

 _Sorry Dad. I will never be able to fully apologise..._

Weaver opened her eyes. There was only light. A world of light.

"Where am I?"

Taylor felt better. It was like all her wounds, both those suffered in the fight against Behemoth and in the fights beforehand, had completely healed. No headache. The feelings of conflict and her control over the insects had entirely disappeared. Her clothes, both the outer layer of the first costume and the spider silk underneath were completely repaired. The same could be said about the engine on her back. The only piece that had not been repaired was her mask. In tatters during the Endbringer battle, she had removed it inside the temple...it had to be lost.

 _But I am alive. I feel alive. I feel better than alive. How is it possible?_

It could have been a few seconds. It could have been an eternity. The light was pleasant, bringing feelings Weaver had not had the chance to enjoy these last months.

The change came brutally. Something grabbed Taylor by her legs. The light began to fade. The former villain-turned hero was propelled at great speed like on a toboggan.

The spiralling was rapid, though Taylor had no notion of time in this weird place. When she stopped spinning, it was to realise the landscape had changed again. The costumed hero was now standing in front of an arch, similar to the triumph arcs once built by the Romans and diverse Empires across the centuries. Under this curious monument a mountainous scenery could be observed.

"Why bring me here?" Taylor asked, hoping the force that had brought her here was disposed to answer her questions. "What do you want?"

No voice came out of nowhere to explain. The reaction to her two sentences was much more dramatic. The light decreased, and for the first time shadows reappeared. Weaver turned on her heels and gasped.

There was darkness coming behind her. Tendrils of smoke at the instant, but fifty or sixty meters away there was a night storm. Not the kind of hurricane or strong tempest that the Endbringer Leviathan had brought in his assault against Brockton Bay. No, this time, it was a pure, malicious night. Somehow, Taylor was seeing things crawling inside the darkness. Things that felt like pure evil. Strangely, a sort of light shield looked like it was reducing the phenomenon. No, not a shield. It looked like statue of shining light, huge and armoured, with a sword and a shield. A giant statue, it had to be close to four meters in height. Except it couldn't be a statue, as it was fighting against the darkness with an incredible fluidity and grace. Without even taking the time to think, Taylor took one step then two towards the mysterious light entity.

But the figure, statue or human, seemed to have understood her indecision. Striking a deep blow of its weapon against the darkness, a massive fist was pointed towards the arch in guidance, then it went back in desperate combat against the incoming night. As it neared, voices of torment and sinister shrieks could be heard.

"Farewell." Taylor said to her unknown protector.

Weaver did not know who or what the entity fighting against the darkness was. But there was no doubt he, or she, or it, was a hero. Without insects to command, Taylor was just going to be a hindrance for her protector.

Taylor Hebert, aka Weaver aka Skitter, took a deep breath and stepped through the portal formed by the limits of the arch. A new flash of light blinded her. Was it her imagination? Just before the flash, the heroine would have thought to hear a whisper. "We will see each other again, Lady Hebert..."

Finally, her eyes adjusted and the former member of the Undersiders could see where she had arrived. Taylor's first impression was that indeed she had been transported to the vision of the mountains. A large peak was in view, the air was fresh, far colder than at New Delhi. Grass and rocks, nothing indicating a city was in the vicinity.

But there was human presence. With a feeling of dread, Taylor acknowledged where she had arrived. The Brockton Bay teenager was in a middle of a camp. An army camp. And looking by the quantity of trenches, cannons and guns she could see, this was not a second-rate gang or a band of scavengers. These guys had a large arsenal in their possession. They meant business.

More troubling, if her knowledge about Empire 88 was any indication, all of these soldiers wore dark grey uniforms with some skulls and menacing emblems. Symbols that in general were sorely reserved to Nazi supporters and the like.

The weird thing was that at no moment Taylor could remember the Nazi having a double-headed eagle for emblem...and she had also learnt enough in her history classes to know the Nazis never put women units on the frontlines. If the two or three athletic women Weaver could see were not here for a film, then there was little chance this group was Gesellshaft-affiliated or another paramilitary group. When you were not a parahuman, Nazis didn't think their female soldiers had their place in the heart of the fighting. Certainly because they didn't want their girlfriends be witnesses of all the rapes and killing they did in the name of Hitler.

One thing was sure, these men reacted rapidly. Taylor had not finished them watching all of them that a grim-faced soldier with a strange and uncomfortable peak cap pointed a gun directly at her head. With a great coat, red lining on his collars and cuffs, the soldier did not look like a pleasant person.

There were three insects in a meter's range, informed her power. They 'tasted' like mosquitoes in her mind. Almost by reflex, Taylor sent one bite the man's hand, and ordered the two others to take position next to his neck and his mouth. Surprised, the unknown soldier wearing the double-eagled cap let fall his huge pistol to the ground with an expression that sounded a lot like a curse.

"Who are you?" Asked the man perched on top of what looked like a huge tank. Their leader, probably. Forty-years old on a guess, the man was particularly tall, and was wearing two military decorations on his uniform above his heart. One gesture, and the majority of the troops that had been furbishing their big guns were now lowering them.

"I am Weaver." Her super-hero designation would have to do. No way Taylor was going to reveal her identity in front of hundreds of soldiers she had no reason to trust. Even if her mask that had been torn apart in the rumble provoked by Behemoth had not followed her here, and her real name was known to most of the United States and the rest of the world.

Wherever 'here' was. Perhaps Africa. There were a lot of warlords on this continent, and it was far from uncommon for parahumans to go there and try to carve their own kingdom. But it was surprising these men and women spoke English. English with an accent Taylor had never seen before, by the way.

"Er...Colonel?" Intervened a younger man, pointing his hand towards the defensive lines of the army.

The visage of the commanding officer, the Colonel, toughened and all traces of hesitation were removed.

"TO ARMS! TO ARMS!" Was screamed by hundred of voices and scores of soldiers rushed with their big guns to take position.

And something on the other side of the pass answered.

"WHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The war cry was so powerful it was feeling like the earth under everyone's boots was shaking. It was a primitive cry, full of battle-lust and anger. It had the beauty of Lung transforming into a dragon and trying to sing, added to the performance of a certain Gaul bard from an Earth Aleph comics importation.

This was when Taylor saw for the first time the human soldiers' enemies.

 _It's green_ , was Weaver's first thought.

So much green. It was a green tide...but it was not grass. All this green were creatures, all gesticulating, vociferating, screaming, insulting and making a racket sufficient to wake up the dead while climbing to fight the troops next to Taylor. The blaring of hooters made by the vehicles was awful. The roar of the motors was unbearable.

Their vehicles...there were a lot of them, and all looked like they had been remodelled by the deceased Squealer of the Merchants. Tanks, bikes, pick-ups, cars and other military vehicles looked like they had been found in a garbage dump and instantly repaired with the closest piece of rubbish that was available.

Honestly, they were utter scrap.

How these things could work was beyond Taylor's imagination. One of the closest tanks looked like his armament had been removed to be replaced with a mechanical digger. One of the bike motors looked like they had been found on a plane. Cars and pick-ups had an appearance that suggested their inventor had tried to work on three different ideas before settling for a combination in a single vehicle. The laws of physic were formal: these things could not work. But work they did.

And they came at the humans' positions and Weaver with blood in their eyes.

 _I am not on Earth anymore or this is one of the worst trick done by the Simurgh_ , thought the young heroine.

 _No. These things are not human. Never has an Endbringer been caught doing a manipulation of that scale. I am not on Earth Beta anymore._

Her thoughts were broken when someone behind her pushed a helmet on her head. Cursing mentally to this lack of awareness on her surroundings

"You will need this if you want to survive more than one hour." The sweet tone of the woman could have been described as amicable, except the hungry look in her eyes reminded uncomfortably Taylor of Sophia Hess aka Shadow Stalker. A Shadow Stalker on steroids with Alexandria genes and having a huge bazooka as primary weapon instead of a crossbow. Another woman ran out of the tents with a big sword in her hands and handed it to Taylor's interlocutor. Who gave it immediately to Weaver with a great smile and a set of...ear-plugs?

"Welcome to the Imperial Guard!" The affirmation came like having a murderous enemy charging your position was business as usual.

"OPEN FIRE! IN THE NAME OF THE EMPEROR!" Roared to her right the man Taylor had just hit with the oversized mosquito. "SEND THE FILTHY XENOS TO THE HELL SPAWNING THEM!"

The humans opened fire. To Weaver's stupefaction, no projectiles came out the guns carried by the infantrymen. Instead, it was a storm of lasers that shattered the first lines of the green monsters.

 _Where did they found this kind of laser guns? Even the stormtroopers of Star Wars have not that!_

This was not the armament produced by Tinkers. Except Dragon, most of the insane-genius parahuman-scientists had difficulties unveiling exactly how their stuff worked, never mind putting it in mass production. And it was not the only weapons available to them. As the green monsters closed the distance, Weaver saw huge fire-throwers and the big tanks make a carnage, splattering hundreds of the creatures, blasting them into very tiny parts.

But incredibly the enemies came coming. Their first lines had been all killed, but they kept coming!

 _Did these things lose their brain at birth? They are going to be slaughtered!_

And yet impossibly the greenies 'tactic' seemed to be working. The first barrage of artillery and laser had left a sea of corpses but a second attack began. More and more of the green brutes were climbing the slopes, and the men and women didn't manage to kill enough of them. In a few minutes, the first trench was going to be overrun by sheer numbers. Taylor sighed internally. Nazis or not Nazis, these persons were humans and that was more that could be said about the enemy they faced. Except, these men did not need the tactics of Weaver. This was war, butterflies were about as much of use here as they had been in New York: worthless.

No, if she was to be any help in that fight, she had to be Skitter, not Weaver. Bring a mountain of insects and bury the enemies under it.

The former member of the Undersiders expanded the range of her power, taking control of thousands insects by second. Wherever she had arrived, her power seemed to be working correctly. And apparently her allies and the enemy had done a good job to help her. The infantry camp had a lot of bugs...and the enemy units were literally covered in slime and parasites.

 _God. Do this monsters have taken a bath in their lives? So many insects..._

1 178 459...no, 1 497 654 insects...no, 2 104 631...

Given that she had no idea of these greenies weaknesses, Taylor controlled all the bugs and unfamiliar insects into a massive and straight task: attack the eyes of the two first enemy lines.

A dark cloud formed, and the monsters began to tear their eyes, commenced to rush in the wrong direction and even...fight against each other?

 _Are they THAT stupid?_

The human soldiers continued to fire and plaster the slopes with more explosives, but the enemy continued to somehow advance, mainly the things that had not been bitten. Although there were some of the green beings that had been attacked, but rushed in the direction of the noise eyeless. Yes, they had ripped their eyes apart with the bites her insects had inflicted.

 _Gross._

"FIRST TRENCH! GO!"

The riflemen of the first trench withdrew, never ceasing to fire, recharging their gun's batteries before joining the ranks of the second lines.

More insects went under Taylor's control...4 158 671...and they were biting, hitting, eating every enemy they could causing thousands of the monsters to scream, push their own comrades and change direction at the wrong moment.

Now Weaver was not limiting herself only to the eyes. The monsters were resistant, so more bites and attacks were needed. There were millions of bugs and without any constraint her power commanded to the bugs to attack everything. Eyes were bitten until they burst. As long as there was a space to enter one of the scrap vehicles, she attacked the drivers and the gunners. Many of the engines rammed into their own soldiers, unleashed their weapons in the wrong direction, or even descended the slope to cause more ravage in their own ranks. Caught between the lasers of her allies, the insects and their own screaming and hysterical allies, the ugly greenies were laminated. Many tanks rolled over dozens of their species alive, and their agony cries were powerful and horrifying.

But the enemy came for a third attack.

 _This is madness. How can they have the will to attack over and over?_

"SECOND TRENCH! GO!"

With an incredulous look, Taylor realised the first trench dug by her allies had been entirely filled by the corpses of the enemies. The fighting had not currently reached the second trench, but it was a very close thing.

 _My God. How many of them did we just kill?_

The new offensive forced Taylor to redirect her attention on the millions of bugs under her command. Two hundred and sixty of the big mosquitoes entered the motors of the tank taking the lead and made the creatures driving and arming it scream in pain. Six hundred and fifty thousand hornets look-alike entered the mouth, the ears, the noses and the eyes of the monsters to do the maximum of damage. Eight hundred thousand flies rushed in the middle of the formation and clouded entirely the enemy army vision.

The first tank slammed into another and provoked the battlefield equivalent of a traffic jam. The super-bikes charged in the tank so hard half of them became green paste. One of the pilots accelerated so hard he elevated himself vertically for twenty metres...before gravity reassumed its rights.

"THIRD TRENCH! GO!"

This was it. In a scream of "Whaaagh!" and other sonorous growls, the green enemies launched everything in the battle, including all the ones Taylor had just blinded. It was...insane. Some had literally their heads and their bodies full of insects, and they still they ran, crawled and tried to reach the positions occupied by the retreating riflemen.

"FIX BAYONETS AND PREPARE FOR CLOSE QUARTERS!"

"WHAAAAAGH!" Screamed the aliens, trampling, fighting and murdering those before them that had the bad luck to die or to be too slow in their progression. Taylor sent all she had, covering them in a murderous swarm, and the laser rifles launched a devastating volley at close range.

And then it was a hand-to-hand fierce battle. Pushing a button on the hilt, the sword Taylor had just been given shone in a blue light. One move, and the greenie in front of her lost his left arm, but instead of agonising the creature understood it as an invitation to come closer. Second strike, Taylor removed the head and this time it was a kill.

Weaver had not the time to rejoice. A large shadow fell upon her, and a huge monstrous green thing came on top of the last trench. The green thing looked like a cross between a walker used in the Hollywood blockbusters of Earth Aleph and a crazy serial killer. A large pincer had been fixed to replace one arm, and an out-of-proportion gun was held by the other. The alien expression was only hate and a sort of...hunger?

In one order, Taylor forced two million six hundred and fifty-seven thousand and nine hundred three bugs of all kind into its mouth, pulverising its dirty teeth, and then proceeded to tear apart everything that was reachable. The heart, the lungs, the stomach, the intestines, and a lot of things no lesson in natural science at Winslow High had ever covered. The body her insects were attacking was ill-conceived...and despite this, somehow, it worked.

The big greenie pushed a horrible scream and started to kick himself, like as he was believing it was going to convince his body to stop. The other enemies suddenly looked to lose their enthusiasm for the battle, and looked the monster try in vain trying to vanquish her bugs.

 _It must be their leader. But how do I kill him? I put millions of bugs and he's still alive!_

Taking her...lightsaber-sword...Taylor launched a circular strike that cut the left leg of the thing. Still screaming incomprehensible screams, groans and roars, the big green alien started to fall in the third gap.

A new strike of the sword removed the other leg, and twenty laser impacts of the surround human warriors disintegrated the head. In a loud crash, the huge corpse fell and did not move again.

"TAKE THEM! KILL THEM ALL!"

All over the battlefield, it was like someone had removed a spell on the green monsters. And they began to flee or to fight amongst each others. A very bad idea, as the humans counter-attacked with the swords and the bayonets, and killed the lot with a stunning facility.

 _Are they the same army we just fought?_

Before her eyes, Weaver saw a hard-fought battle just turn into a monumental, one-sided rout, the humans pursuing the monster, shooting them, murdering them with ferocity, glee and gay abandon.

 _It's over. We won._

Exhausted mentally and physically, Taylor dropped the super-sword and fell to her knees, commanding the swarm to disperse.

"VICTORY! VICTORY FOR THE EMPEROR!"

"VICTORY!"

"AVE IMPERATOR!"

"FOR FAY AND THE EMPEROR!"

 _Why? Why am I here? And who is this 'Emperor'?_

Taylor felt incredibly light-headed. It had been hours she had not had some rest. Behemoth. New Delhi. The figure of Light. The green monsters. The battle. Battles with big freaking guns and lasers. It was too much.

Weaver let the darkness claimed her.

* * *

 **Second Lieutenant Gor Ordev**

A silence of angst and fear reigned on the bridge of the warship. Whispers here and there were spoken amongst the officers to pass the orders and relay the information, but these were forced words, necessary activation of runic-activated buttons. For the most part, the men and women that had the dubious honour to be present were doing their best to do their work and ignore the obvious threat of the lasguns in the hands of the fifty-plus Exalted Guards.

It was not the kind of atmosphere one normally imagined for a place commanding the movements of a warship weighting roughly five millions and seven hundred thousand tonnes, having a length of one kilometre and a crew of nineteen thousand and seventy-five souls. Especially not as the warship was about to participate in its first serious naval battle since its official commission forty years ago. Normally, hundreds of crewmen and officers should have contributed to the chatter, with the leadership aboard making some comment on the universe's beauty that the Emperor authorised them to contemplate by the large view bay. This bridge was the extreme opposite of an optimistic ambience. One impartial observer could have described it as a party about to go to their own burials.

Working on the arrays he had been charged to work with, Second Lieutenant Gor Ordev tried to do his work. It was hard. Gor had never considered himself a science in the arrays of a warship, and twenty seconds ago his direct subordinate had been trying to attract his attention when one of the Exalted Guardsmen had decided carrying a data-report to his superior was a treasonous act. Lieutenant Ordev had still some of the blood and diverse fluids on what had been this morning a pristine SDF grey uniform. It was both disgusting and frightening.

 _I will skin the bastard. I will skin every man of the Exalted Bastard Guard if it's the last thing I ever do._

But until that long-awaited movement, Gor Ordev had to do his job. Even if he was under the command of a man he had little reason to respect.

It had not been like this prior to the Ork invasion. Admiral Lysyvev had been a good officer, willing to sign transfers to the Wouhan and Nyx naval facilities. Not only junior officers, warrant officers and simple crewmen acquired experience serving aboard capital warships, but there was prestige to gain in the upper ranks of the Nyx Sector naval forces. Ordev's transfer had been approved three weeks ago, and a large party had taken place to celebrate these good news.

But the Ork invasion had happened. Whatever a ground officer thought, it had not been the SDF's fault. There was a little thing called the gravipause. For those ignorant of the simplest technical terms in space, it was the minimal distance from a star where a starship could enter or exit safely the Warp. It was dependent on the star's mass, the Gellar Fields of the ship in question and plenty of other factors like asteroid belts and the competence of the crew's ship. Ignoring the gravipause usually resulted a starship to be blown to very tiny fragments, and thus every sane captain tended to calculate it very precisely.

Orks had never been noted for their intelligence. Disdaining the unbreakable laws of the universe, their hulk had emerged right on top of Fay III before dislocating in several large pieces. The smaller ones had been destroyed by the twenty-plus Marauder-class Bombers. The bigger one had crashed on the planet before anyone had the time to react.

Admiral Lysyvev had left his naval squadron in orbit and gone to speak with the Exalted-Overlord after the initial announce of the Ork invasion and the discovery of a pirate ship in the outer belt of asteroids. All the officers and those in the now aboard the _Gracious Overlord_ had thought it was going to be a quick affair. In a matter of hours, the warships were going to bombard the orks from orbit and exterminate the xenos for good. 'Let's see how the greenies loved being at the end of a series of Lances strikes' had been the prevalent opinion in the corridors of the starship.

A quick affair, the meeting had been anything but. Hours had succeeded to hours. The Admiral had never come back. It was the former Rear-Admiral Mikasev, now Admiral Mikasev, who did in his place. And the new SDF's commanding officer had been followed by more than two hundred guardsmen of the Exalted Guard, Byukur's personal praetorians. A similar number of the Governor's personal soldiers had boarded the destroyers.

And then the purges had started among the squadron.

Anyone whose loyalty was suspect; which translated by being not utterly and totally devoted to the Byukur dynasty, was executed. And the Exalted Guardsmen administrated often the deathly sentence on the spot. Captain Marakev and Commissar Voker had tried to protest when the sound of the first lasguns had barked. The loyalty they had to their men had seen the two men at the top of the _Gracious Overlord_ 's hierarchy die in the seconds after.

 _By the Emperor, what have we done to deserve this? And in the middle of a damned war, no less!_

Twenty hours ago, Gor Ordev had been the Sixth Lieutenant aboard the _Gracious Overlord_ , corvette of His Most Holy Majesty and flagship of the Fay System Defence Force. Now he was the Second Lieutenant, whose duty was to oversee the oh-so-different departments of engineering, Auger Arrays and the torpedoes batteries. That was what happened when the Second Lieutenant, the Fifth Lieutenant and the Sixth Lieutenant were reduced to a sole naval officer. It did not help the three staffs under him had diminished in the same proportions, and that the senior Tech-Priests had had to lock themselves in the engineering rooms and several places only known to the cogboys to avoid being purged.

Ordev had not the slightest idea how he was supposed to be at three different places at the same time and do a job he ignored two-thirds of the fundamentals. He was the man in charge of the torpedoes control and launch, not an engineer! Fortunately, Admiral Mikasev and the Exalted Guardsmen ignored it too. And Lieutenant Ordev was not going to reveal it to them.

It was after all a remark like that that had seen Lieutenant Tolev, well former Second Lieutenant Tolev now, take a shot of laspistol in the back of the head at point range. Or was it another? With so many people shot, it became kind of difficult to remember who had done what. Or not done. Whatever.

Still, there were reports that the Admiral had to be informed. First Lieutenant Adryks had justly one to deliver.

"Identity confirmed, Admiral. The pirate destroyer is an old Marathon-class destroyer built in the Adonis Sector one thousand and nine-hundred years ago. Turned to piracy in 930M34 for unknown reasons. Threat level: minimal."

 _So we passed the last hours hunting a ruin? Impressing, oh Exalted Admiral. Very impressing, indeed._

The Fay System Defence Fleet was hundreds of light-years away in power and prestige from the prestigious systems of the Segmentum. It was a far cry from a significant Imperium Naval Base like Nyx, and pitiful compared to an Astartes Homeworld like the magnificent planet of Macragge governed by the famed Ultramarines. But it still had one corvette and five destroyers, supported by three or four Interceptor and Bomber wings, plus one destroyer serving in the Imperial Navy.

Only a moron would have considered sending all of the warp-capable warships against a single escort ship that was outclassed by each of the Fay SDF destroyers. Not only it left a gaping hole in the mobile defences of the planet, but the orks were also rampaging on the surface. Judging by the vox reports and other emissions received by the com section, the land forces had not an easy stroll ahead of them. Admiral Mikasev had given exactly that order. What it said about the new Admiral's intelligence...

"Weapon extreme range in five minutes and forty-five seconds...Sir." Signalled Ordev to his Admiral. This parvenu of Mikasev had gotten the information on his personal hololithic table, but hadn't bothered to acknowledge. No doubt reading his pornographic data or something of similar importance.

Inwardly, Ordev cringed. These were five minutes and forty-five seconds that the _Gracious Overlord_ would move away from the planet at maximum military power, which for a Gauntlet-class corvette was at 4.67 gravities. As many minutes and seconds that would be lost, and more would be spent in deceleration and manoeuvres, until finally the squadron returned in orbit.

It was a task that the _Gracious Overlord_ or a pair of destroyers could have done alone. Marathon-class destroyers had never been built in the Nyx Sector, but Ordev had seen their official characteristics. Sponsored by a Sector Governor that had had more money than sense, these hulls had been considered dangerously lacking in every aspect save their low price. Very few units had been built, and the only reason a lot of people remembered them in the 35th millennium was their tendency to reappear in the hands of pirates.

"Field Braces activated to eighty-six per cent, ninety-nine per cent in ten seconds, Admiral." Called First Lieutenant Adryks.

"Void shields at ninety-seven per cent, Sir." Said Third Lieutenant Solev.

"Torpedo one and two tubes charged, Admiral." Ordev limited himself to affirm.

These were not the type of torpedoes used by capital warships, but their warheads against a destroyer of this age were going to cause plenty of murder.

 _'Murder', what a good joke. One of these torpedoes can easily break in half that pirate with one hit. And all the destroyers have prepared their own volleys._

"Why are you waiting for?" Was the terse reply from the Admiral. "Charge tube three and four too!"

Mikasev had abandoned the watch of whatever was on his hololithic table, and was now looking at him with something looking like fury, exasperation or anger. Maybe the three at once. The young face of the man, in his mid-thirties, agitated itself in a grotesque manner. In an orbital shipyard or in a street of Great Landing, this would have been described as a man full of tics.

Aboard a starship... _by the Golden Throne of Terra, has that imbecile taken drugs while we weren't looking?_

Ordev opened the mouth to answer...and closed it, knowing it would accomplish nothing but his death.

Torpedoes were far from cheap. Firing four of those, plus what the destroyers were arming at the same moment, was going to be extremely expensive for the Fay navy budget, not to mention overkill in the extreme.

 _Plus only tube one and two have auto-loaders directly on the magazines. We will take three or four times to charge tube three than it will take to fire two salves of tube one. Oh, well. Far above my pay grade._

Rumour was that in the Great Crusade, every Nyx warship serving the God-Emperor had had autoloaders for the torpedoes tubes. Times had changed. In the last hundred years, builders had started to conceive warships with only fifty or sixty per cent of automatic main batteries. Ordev didn't know if it was the same policy in the other Sectors, but it was possible it was the case.

"Prepare tube three and four, aye Sir!" The Second Lieutenant replied formally, although his urge to strangle the miserable bastard grew more pressing after this exchange.

Opening a vox-link with the torpedoes magazine, Ordev contact the warrant officer in charge in the lower decks.

"Prepare two torpedoes for tube three and four. Use special ammunition."

"By your command, Sir!" Replied the man with something approaching exultation in his voice.

 _As it should be. He has taken his revenge, after all._

"What is this special ammunition, Lieutenant?" Enquired the Admiral in an iron voice.

"Melta-heads, Sir." Replied calmly Ordev.

"I see." The approval was communicated in a disinterested and languid tone, and Mikasev returned to his occupations and his...drug-injector that he was hiding next to his command seat.

 _No, you don't_. Thought Ordev. _You have no idea what I'm doing. But then you have also no idea how to do your job, eh, Admiral_? _But don't worry, it won't matter any longer_.

"Tube three and four loaded, Sir." Said Ordev after three minutes. A true and professional commanding officer would have caught this huge lie in less time it took to pronounce it. Manual torpedoes didn't recharge in less than five minutes, and the average time was close to six or seven on average. Admiral Mikasev on his seat didn't bother turning his head.

"We are in range, Admiral." Told First Lieutenant Adryks.

"Open fire!" Barked Mikasev, after a few seconds where it was visible his brain had tried to compute what exactly the two Lieutenants had told him.

"Tube one to four: Fire!"

And the _Gracious Overlord_ trembled four times, as one by one the torpedoes were ejected from their tubes and started the track indicated by the cogitators of the corvette.

On the arrays, similar green blips appeared from the launching destroyers.

"Torpedoes from tubes one to four launched. Control weapon auspex five on five. Nominal procedures completed. Tech-Priest Val-Hal in the engine section tells us no problem has been detected." Whispered a young Sub-Lieutenant woman on the torpedoes control section.

The five Reliance-class destroyers had shot two torpedoes each, and the _Gracious Overlord_ four. Thus it was fourteen torpedoes that were directed on the completely overwhelmed enemy destroyer.

Fourteen streaks of fire, closing the distance at hundreds of kilometres by second, at phenomenal levels of acceleration. Not facing directly the bay, Ordev wasn't able to fully appreciate the view, but it had to be spectacular. Even Mikasev had abandoned whatever he was doing and looking at it. Of course, the Admiral should have given commands to recharge the torpedoes and do a few things that were the captain's prerogatives, but who cared?

The defensive batteries of the obsolete Marathon-class, laser-based turrets and anti-missiles in pirate's hands, managed to stop two torpedoes. The void shields stopped one more before flickering out. The eleven others passed the desperate defensive barrage and struck the destroyer hull with the fury of the Emperor. The enemy had been so overwhelmed they had even tried to retaliate and fire their own torpedoes.

On the arrays, the central portion of the enemy vessel was the first to record a hit. Then came the command bridge. The upper decks. The reactors. And then the magazines. Explosion succeeded to explosions, generating minor distortions that blinded the arrays.

Suddenly, there wasn't an enemy destroyer visible on the sensors anymore.

There was a ball of plasma, and from the bridge bay, Second Lieutenant Ordev could contemplate an explosion of light that illuminated the Fay system as one of the more expensive fireworks ever.

"Excellent! Excellent!" The voice of Admiral Mikasev was slow and mushy, the drugs evidently having taken their toll. "Turn around this ship, Lieutenant! I want to report this glorious triumph to the Exalted Overlord myself! And...and..." An Exalted Guardsman walked next to Mikasev and started to whisper some words in his ears.

"And I will report this ship is in dire need to be purged of traitors!"

 _Because killing a tenth of the crew wasn't enough?_ Thought cynically Ordev. _You loathsome..._

Silence completely fell on the bridge, at the light of the miniature star that had just been created by the _Gracious Overlord_ and its sister ships. A dozen of the Exalted Guardsmen paled, realising the Admiral had gotten too far.

 _Intelligent men_ , thought Ordev.

The other Guardsmen were doing their best either to imitate statues or to adopt a ridiculous parade attitude. Admiral Mikasev's behaviour was the worst, of course. Lost in his drugs, his stim-injector constantly activated, the highest ranking officer of the Fay navy was giggling with drool around his mouth.

"Do you want to know something funny Admiral?" Asked First Lieutenant Adryks in his usual calm and collected manner.

"By all means...ah...First Lieutenant...Ahmyrk...Azyr..." The drugs had not transformed Admiral Mikasev in a super-legume, but they had done plenty of damage to whatever consciousness there had been in his brain once upon a time.

"The torpedoes that you ordered to be charged in the tubes? They contained all the corpses of the Exalted Guardsmen that are not on this bridge."

 _And what a pain it was to put them there. I am going to be in debt, with all the vodka tourneys I owe to the guys in the torpedoes sections._

"I think a change of leadership for this ship has become necessary." Told First Lieutenant Adryks, as all the crew on the bridge drew the laspistols and the weapons they had hidden under their uniforms.

The Guardsmen finally tried to fire, but it was too late. In a sinister whistle, the doors allowing the access to the bridge opened and the familiar shape of an autocannon emerged. The Guardsmen pivoted...just in time to see their death. A hurricane of rounds was fired and the racket was so loud Ordev thought he was going to be deaf. The Exalted Guardsmen fell like leaves, all their shots being lost on the ceiling or far from any of their targets.

A small amount of dust settled, revealing the red robes of a Tech-Priest, carrying the autocannon over his shoulder like it was nothing. A feat Ordev knew was beyond him or unaugmented men and women.

"Happy to see you, Tech-Priest Val-Hal."

"The Omnissiah protects, Lieutenant Adryks." Replied in his metallic voice the man everybody nicknamed 'cogboy-in-chief' on the warship. The senior representative of the Adeptus Mechanicus marched over the corpses of the fifty Exalted Guardsmen, quickly followed by half a dozen warrant officers and junior Tech-Priests that had mysteriously 'disappeared' in the entrails of the _Gracious Overlord_ these last hours.

"You will...not...get...away...with...this..." The words of Admiral Mikasev were barely a murmur. It was not due to the drugs anymore: from what the Second Lieutenant could see, the rapid fire of the autocannon had shredded the Admiral's legs, and the flow of blood from these wounds was consequent.

"On the contrary. I firmly intend to get away with this. Admiral." Adryks last word was literally dripping with enough irony to disrupt the Maelstrom itself.

"You tried to kill venerable servants of the Machine-God." Added Tech-Priest Val-Hal in what a non-metallic being would have called sarcasm. "This is heresy...and the punishment of the Omnissiah will be just and terrible."

"Our men...in the engine rooms and the armouries..."

"Have been killed and their corpses put in the extra-torpedoes we had not the time to put into the tubes." Revealed pleasantly Ordev. "Which is frankly more than they deserved."

"The Emperor..."

"Please." Sniggered Third Lieutenant Solev. "What you do is because you enjoy lording your power and terrify the honest citizens. It has nothing to do with the Emperor."

"The Omnissiah demands of every man and woman a just but hard price...by the authority granted to me as Senior Tech-Priest of the _Gracious Overlord_ in the name of the Fabricator-General of Mars, you Admiral Mikasev are relieved of your command."

The drug-addicted flag officer tried to protest, in vain. A series of darts from another gun hidden behind the large red robes bored an impressive hole in Mikasev's torso, spraying plenty of blood on the hololithic table.

"I apologise for the inconvenience." Gritted the Tech-Priest. "Loss of efficiency before cleaning-up: 32%. Utility of Admiral Mikasev organic remains: 1.2%."

"Let's turn around this squadron, ladies and gentlemen." Adryks voice returned everyone to the running of the _Gracious Overlord_. "We have a planet to save, xenos to kill and an Exalted Idiot to get rid of."


	4. Arrival 1-3 Enemies Arise

**Arrival 1.3**

 **Enemies Arise**

 _There are many strategists to argue the Orks were their own worst enemy on the Fay Campaign, an observation reported millions of times since humanity first encounter with this odious race. It is difficult to argue with this assessment. The xenos committed a series of blunders a novice officer would have avoided. The groups of greenskins which were sent in pursuit of the retreating Imperium soldiers were pathetically small, letting more than a regiment turn around and destroy them piece-meal. A large quantity of the limited equipment looted on the site of their first victory was expended against each other or threats of little value. No general goal was fixed to conquer the planet. Save spatial mines, the space around the planet was left virtually unopposed. And last but not least, the Orks chose to attack the strongest defensive position on Fay III guarded by Lady Weaver and three regiments of His Most Holy Majesty's Guard, with its immediate bloody consequences..._

 _By_ Retired General Tereyev _,_ _The Ocean of War_ _,_ 510M35.

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Moros Sub-Sector**

 **Fay system**

 **Planet Fay III**

 **7.175.289M35**

Thought for the day: Do not wait for Death.

 **Ovael the Maleficent**

"The _Source of Sorcery is gone_ , my lord. The lackeys of the Corpse-Emperor have destroyed it."

The vox-operator voice was gloomy and fatalist, punctuated by sobs. A few more seconds, and the tears would undoubtedly come out from his eyes. Which would be quite a spectacle given that the being in question had ten of them. Ten large yellow-glowing eyes, which spitted acid at random intervals when the mood of their owner degraded. Not that Ovael was presumptuous to criticise the mutations, given the horns pointing out of his helmet and the thorns accentuating the dread effect of his power armour.

 _Don't shoot the messenger, don't shoot the messenger..._

"You told me the Gods were in favour of our enterprise here, Priest." Grumbled the leader of the Sons of Sorcery, turning towards his senior Tzeentch sorcerer, a thing which had only human in name. "I hope you have a good excuse for not warning us about this disaster..."

"The change..."Gurgled the thing that had once been a being with two legs but now had four and was speaking by the means of a large beak. "THE CHANGE! THE CHANGE!"

Each exclamation was more strident than the former. And to accentuate the problem, grey-blue sparks were lightening the blue skin around the multiple mutated pustules and tentacles of the sorcerer. The beak channelled more and more Warp energy with each word pronounced.

 _This is not good..._

And then the voice of the Tzeentch priest had nothing in common with his usual tone of speech. It was like a concerto of screams and mockeries, all delivered in a language which was neither Low Gothic nor its noble and higher variant.

"Ô rage ! ô désespoir ! ô vieillesse ennemie!  
N'ai-je donc tant vécu que pour cette infamie?"

The oratory performance of the preacher did not progress further. His mutated face exploded in a shower of blood and flesh, colouring in red the shocked members of the assistance who had been too close.

Ovael lowered his bolter, relieved a major Warp-incident had been prevented. Shooting first a psyker who was about to lose control of his powers and asking questions later was one of the first things the Astartes learnt in their formation. Not doing so generally made the accident zone...messy. Ironically, the same thing applied to lackeys of the Corpse-Emperor and those following the True Gods. Though the latter suffered more incidents if one wanted to be accurate.

 _Must be something in the Warp which made him weird...weirder than usual_ , Ovael amended _._

Leashing his rage and anger under decades of long restraint and patience, Ovael looked around him at what remained of his pitiful comment, sending threatening glares at the mutants nearby. All of them took steps back under his glare. Good. A Space Marine, loyal to the Dark Gods or not, was to maintain a fearsome appearance at all times. This was the only reason why Ovael was not sobbing with his head between his armoured fists. Well, not the only reason. Displaying such a spectacle of weakness might invite an insurrection among his own ranks. It might also convince them to desert in mass. To commit acts-against-nature with the vegetation or the local wildlife. To verify by themselves how unstable decades-old ammunition could be when you mixed it with Warp-sorcery. That was the problem with Chaos worshippers. You never knew what stupidity they were about to try next time.

 _Perhaps I shouldn't have deserted..._

It had been an easy decision at the time. Captain Ovael, loyal Captain of the 5th Company of the Blood Ravens, had found in the Barusk System an impressing arsenal of Great Crusade weaponry. His own Company, having endlessly waged wars for the equivalent of ten standard Holy Terran years, had been in dire need of resupply. So what if this equipment had belonged once upon a time to the Thousands Son Legion? By the five or six layers of dusts covering the armouries and the supply depots, it was clear the owners had forgotten this place long before the 35th millennium!

Unfortunately, it was at that point another warship had arrived in the system, and this one was bearing the dreaded sigil of the Inquisition. In command had been a very unhappy Inquisitor, who did not see with a good eye the Blood Ravens looting potentially Chaos-empowered materials.

 _Scratch that, Ovael. You knew they were belonging to Chaos_ , whispered a malicious voice in his head. _You knew and you didn't care_.

The now blue-armoured Chaos Astartes grimaced, an expression of disgust fortunately hidden by the helmet in form of golden funeral mask.

 _How I wish I could throw this helmet away...alas by the rotting testicles of Nurgle I no longer can_.

When Ovael had departed the ranks of the Blood Ravens to start a career of piracy and glorious, unending war in service of Chaos, it had been in command of eight warships, one of which was a strike cruiser. Two hundred and ten thousand former PDF troops. Several hundred thousand cultists, men and women believing in his cause. The red armour the now renegade Blood Raven had just looted was boosting by a factor of three his limited psychic potential. It had also allowed him to recover three armours which had been revealed as Rubric Marines.

 _And you had one dead Inquisitor on your hands. Don't forget that_.

Now ten years and a massive battle with a World Eaters warband later? His last warship was gone, and the fact it had been an old Marathon-class destroyer good for scrap material was no comfort. That they had captured it from pirates on one of the good days did nothing to quell the anger in his augmented organs. They were stranded on the planet, vulnerable to the bolters and lasguns of whoever was over their heads. His own Astartes subordinates, the ones who had encouraged him to break the shackles of the Imperium and venerate the True Gods, were dead.

 _No, Ovael. It's you who encouraged them to break the chains of their allegiance_ , laughed the voice in the back of his head. _You and no one else_.

The Chaos Space Marine swore in his helmet, the sound fortunately passing unperceived in the cacophony of his camp. This battle-armour was more trouble than it was worth. The Warp-tainted blue and gold colour was horribly visible from long distances, the horns made sneaking around all but impossible, the voices from the Warp never ceased their chatter. The force under his command was not better. A mix of mutated Guardsmen and deranged cultists, at most five hundred strong. Well, four hundred and ninety-nine strong thanks to the recent events.

The only solution that came to his mind at the present was to flee. The salvation of his pitiful war-band depended on their ability to keep their heads low, infiltrate a spaceport and steal a ship. Which would be easier said than done.

Ovael was an Astartes. Like all his brethrens, he had been a Scout before being granted the honour of wearing the Chapter colours and learnt in his days the delicate art of reconnaissance and sneaking around the enemy camp to clear the approach of the Space Marine decisive strike. He knew the tactics and strategies hundreds of ambushers and vanguards had used to infiltrate enemy positions.

The bickering corrupted humans around him had none of the qualities required for the task. In fact, they were very much the complete opposite of the men Ovael needed. Asking for true experts with these skills would have been too much to ask, but even whiteshields of the Corpse-Emperor's Guard were more useful.

 _They will have to serve as a diversion_ , concluded the former Blood Raven now clad in blue and gold. Around him, the troops-now elevated to the rank of meat-shields talked, argued and threatened each other.

The only thing of values under his command-besides his personal weapons and battle-armour- were the Rubric Marine who had been ordered to guard his attack bike and the aforementioned attack bike itself. Nothing else.

"ALL RIGHT! BY THE HORNS OF A BERSERKER SHUT UP!" Screamed Ovael. "OR I SWEAR BY THE ROTTING ENTRAILS OF AN UNCLEAN ONE I WILL-"

The large red flare which illuminated the sky forced the Traitor Marine to interrupt his speech. It was looking like an artillery shell...and it was coming right at their position.

"TO COVER BAND OF SLUGS!" Ordered the master of the war-band. "TO COVER!"

Fortunately, the mutants had still enough intelligence to recognise the danger. Crawling, running, flying or marching on their corrupted appendages, the cultists avoided the ground where the slow projectile was about to impact.

Every member of the Sons of Sorcery hid behind rocks or the ruins of long-corrupted machines, waiting for the explosion and the shrapnel which would come.

BAAANGG!

The explosion came effectively...but there were no splinters of plasteel or others metallic fragments coming out of the clouds. What came from the dust clouds was much, much worse. Little violet creatures with large snapping fangs, tiny muscular legs and thorns covering the back. Creatures which alas were all too familiar for an Astartes or any Guardsman worth the name.

 _Squigs. Damn the orks._

"SQUIGS! BEWARE THE GREENSKINS!" Shouted Ovael, one swipe of his fell chainsword _Brutish Arrogance_ cutting two dozen of the pests and scattering their remains in a river of gore. "DEPLOY AND LOOK FOR THE ENEMY!"

But Tzeentch's favour was definitely escaping his servants and those of the other Chaos Gods today. Between fifty and sixty squigs were eliminated easily in less than half a minute-Ovael had cleared nine out of ten of this vermin himself-but the delay had been sufficient for the nearby orks to close fast. From the hills on the east, a large army was coming, with motorised columns rushing ahead screaming the usual battle-cries of the green ravagers. Behind them came a mass of disorganised warriors, braying, shouting, insulting and roaring.

"WWWAAAAAAAAGGGHHH!"

 _We can't beat them. Not without the Source of Sorcery to support us._

Ovael supposed many followers of the Corpse-Emperor would be astonished to see how fast he had arrived to that conclusion, but the former Blood Raven had never been attracted to the worship of Khorne. Berserkers were granted a fair deal of power for a battle at close-quarters, but their lack of intelligence was painful to watch. And even a whole squad of them would be unable to slaughter enough of the greenskins to make a difference. Assuming the idiots didn't choose to fight each other.

"HOLD THE LINE!" Shouted Ovael and grunted when about a third of his mutants preferred running eastwards rather than fighting. The voices in his head mocked him again, worsening his headache.

 _I regret my previous words. At least Khorne servants would stay and FIGHT!_

 _Bloody cowards_ , thought the blue-gold Traitor Astartes, unleashing a vengeful storm of destruction with his bolter on a new wave of squigs. _Well it makes what I'm about to do far more satisfying_.

Marching calmly and at an assured pace to his attack bike, Ovael trampled two more squids under his armoured boots and continued to provide a covering fire, slightly slowing down the ork vanguard and crashing down two of their bikes-contraptions. Far from being discouraged though, the xenos fired back, throwing missiles, lasers, slug projectiles and a lot of things the Astartes wasn't sure to want their provenance.

Due to the terrible accuracy of any ork ammunition, about half of the missiles went down in the attackers own ranks, but that left the other half...letting them rain a random slaughter on the mutants who were attempting in vain to find some cover in their unbridled escape.

 _Yes, it is time to go._

One mental command, and the Rubric Marine mounted on the side-car's seat of the modified attack bike, where usually an Astartes gunner would have stood. There was no massive bolter or multi-melta on the prow of this model however. With his Arcane weaponry a Rubric wielded far more firepower than a conventional anti-tank weapon. And the Astartes soul entrapped in the battle-armour then proceeded to prove it by blasting three orks on a walker with a blast of blue livid lightning.

Firing again his bolter and killing five greenskins in a single salvo, the leader of the soon-to be-extinct Sons of Sorcery tore apart two squigs with his armoured fist and sat on the attack bike. The half-mechanical half demonic machine roared in challenge as its owner turned on the power and unleashed the hellhounds of war.

Firing the twin bolters mounted on the prow of his attack bike, Ovael pushed the engines to their maximum power output and the attack bike barrelled forwards, crushing anything-be it ork, mutant or rocks- that dared standing in its way. The vehicle created a trail of destruction and a river of green blood, as expected from a design able to crash rockcrete walls at full speed. The chainsword was drinking the xenos blood by the litres. Screams of surprise mounted from the orks warriors, who had obvious not thought to face one of the most dangerous opponents of the Milky Way. The lone mutant and Chaos cultists went to their knees in supplication, their voices begging him to stop and save them. For all answer, Ovael pushed the boosters of the bike to their redlines, breaking in a bloody flash the crude encirclement of the orks.

The distance instantly skyrocketed between the bike and the pursuers. Escaping was made easier by the orks themselves: the horrid xenos looted the battlefield and took great pleasure in wiping out any resistance. Ovael directed his bike south-west. Towards the mountains, which were growing on the horizon.

 _I'm alive. It's all that matters_ , thought the Traitor Space Marine. _And I will have my revenge, by the feathers of Tzeentch._

* * *

 **The Ork Camp**

Warboss Ta'aagh the Mad Brute boomed with laughter. The Mekboys around him laughed too, but in a far tenser manner. Perched on his great Battlewagon, the intimidating figure of their beloved tyrant looked at them with a large smile full of fangs and they didn't know why. The corpses of the ten human officers impaled on the pikes covering the big ork tank had just been eviscerated according to his wishes...

"BOYZ! WEEB AB WON A GREAT VICTOARY!"

The boyz cheered like a single ork. Victory was always good. Victory meant you could go elsewhere and fight another big battle. Harder. Faster. Stronger. The idea was so invigorating, hundreds of them ceased to loot the battlefield and rushed to hear their big Warboss armoured from head to toe in his Mega Armour speak. Hundreds came. Then thousands. A sea of green, gathered to hear the word of the Mad Brute.

"BADDLE! BADDLE! BADDLE!"

"TOMORROW DA WOILD! UUMIES ARE WEAK!"

"WHAAAAGGGHHH FURRAVA!"

Ta'aagh grabbed a live squig and swallowed it whole, rotting loudly. A large Nobz roared in anger when he saw his pet pass from company animal to food sustenance, but the Warlord get rid of the objection coming by fracturing the skull of his would-be opponent with a monumental strike of his power claw.

"ORKS ARE DA BESTEST!" Bellowed Ta'aagh, unveiling his pointed yellowish teeth. The bloody power claw was lifted over his head, spraying green fluid all over his big Nobzs. "VICTOARY IZ OURS! FER DA KULT O' SPEED!"

A bid red button was slammed by a Mekboyz, and two large pincers opened from the haphazardly-constructed war machine in a very threatening manner. Three large columns of smoke formed from the distorted chimneys in the vehicle's rear, creating a mini pollution cloud in a few seconds. The mob loved it. Weirdboys raised their skull-shaped sceptres to the skies. Nobz Bikerz pushed their sonorous engines to the brink of explosion; in two cases the machines actually exploded, propelling the owners and debris of their bikes far higher than the universal law of gravity should have allowed.

" DA KULT O' SPEED! DA KULT O' SPEED!"

"FASTA! FASTA!"

"SUPERSONIC! WWWAAAAAAAGHH!"

"NOWS LISSEN!" The exclamation was so strident and the ork equivalent of the megaphone to boost the effects was so mangled that about forty of the armourglass surfaces on diverse warbikes, warbuggies and wartrakk fell apart from the rusty emplacements they were located.

"BRUKK BRUKK AN BUZZ WURK AB LISSEND DA UUMIE COMMUNICASHUNZ!" Affirmed Ta'aagh the Mad Brute, a statement that would have undoubtedly caused a stroke to thousands of various species all across this very galaxy. "WEZ GOIN' TER DA BIG SCRAP IN DA MOUNTAINS!"

"WWAAAGGH!" Shouted an ambitious Cybork, the mix of ork and metallic alloys wearing the ruined and torn recognisable red robe of an Adeptus Mechanicus Tech-Priest, pointing his gun towards the Warboss. The attempted coup did not go far as Ta'aagh activated the big flamer mounted on the flanks of the battlewagon, enflaming the rebellious ork and the forty-plus others which were on the way.

"UVVE VOLUNTEAZ?" Brayed the Warboss over the agony screams of the burning boyz. "DA BARBECUE IZ READY!" For once, what passed for self-preservation among the ork species brutally kicked in. None of the Nobz advanced and issued a challenge to Ta'aagh after this brutal demonstration. "WERR WAS MEEB?"

A little mekboyz wearing the uniform of a Fay PDF General covered in grease and promethium approached the inspiration-lost warboss and whispered some words in his ear. More striking detail, the ork was carrying an imposing manual under his right arm.

"Ah UGH! DA 'UMNAS IN DA MOUTAINS AB KILLED ZHARGUG DA MASSACRA!" The screams of the Warboss went right to another level, to the point the Boyz in a ten-meter circle were struck deaf for several hours, in spite of the very robust constitution of the green race.

"DIS MEANS A BIG SCRAP!" The clamours mounted in an infernal crescendo. Every motor was roaring to its very limits, and an uncountable quantity of lasguns, laspistols, bolters, chainswords, chainaxes, power claws was raised in what could not be misconstrued as bloody challenge. Pipes, arc welders and plates were hastily rammed to expedite the repairs of the previous battle. "THEYZ UUMIES ARE NUB WEAK! BIG SCRAP!"

Soon it was every ork for himself, each screaming, roaring or honking the sirens of their vehicles.

"MEEB WAN RED PAINT FER MI NYOO BIG CANNONS! MEEB WAN BIG SCRAP!"

"WARBOSS TA'AAGH PROMISZ YA DA BIG BADDLE O' YER LIFE!" Erupted the Weirdboyz Buzz Wurk. "WODDA YA SAY?"

"WWAAAAAAGGGHHH!"

"DA GALAXYZ BELONGS TER DA BOYZ!"

"FER GORK AN MORK!"

"CUNNIN' AN BRUTUL!"

The sceptres of every Weirdboys were shaken by massive green spikes of energy. Thousands of orks of all specialties felt the call. The appeal of their warmongering divinities, Gork and Mork. A call they were never able to resist, and why would they want to anyway? This was the call for battle and massacre. This was the urge to murder and plunder until the stars bled and the galaxy crumbled.

From tens of thousands maws, a monstrous sound came to shaken the earth.

"WWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHHH!"

* * *

 **Colonel Daviev Larkine**

The tent where the only hololith owned by the Fay 20th stayed had seen its power consumption decrease massively these last days. While the Mechanicus Tech-Priests would eventually reactivate all the lights and mechanisms when the invasion was over, the high levels of power needed to maintain quantities of diverse machine-spirits and objects were better used elsewhere for the moment. The main problems took priority against personal convenience. As a consequence, the obscurity was very much omnipresent at this second. Strangely appropriate, if one wanted to keep an atmosphere of dangers constantly waiting in the shadows.

"I have good news and bad news, Colonel. Which do you want to hear first?"

The shadow of a smile came to the lips of the man commanding the Fay 20th Infantry of His Holy Majesty's Guard. No one knew for sure when this particular sentence had been first used, but the wisest officers normally betted on a pre-Great Crusade origin. They were even some old beards pretending the inventor of this dilemma had lived long before the Master of Mankind united humanity under a single banner. Amusing but unverifiable, alas.

"Let's begin with the bad news." Decided the veteran of the Petersburg campaign in an ironic tone. "I want to finish this conversation on a positive note."

"Very well." The image on the hololith of General Marov made a gesture which could be largely interpreted as 'you're going to regret demanding this particular order'.

"We have re-configured our long-range auspexes in orbit and it is evident at this hour the estimations General Syuev got out of nowhere were wildly optimistic."

"Somehow I'm not surprised." Shrugged the Colonel, readjusting a bit his uniform. Heating had been deactivated in the tent like everything else, which made the atmosphere dark and cold. "The first wave we fought yesterday was close to three hundred per-cents stronger than the worst-case scenario."

In profane and stark words, this meant the bagatelle of fifteen thousand greenskins. That they had repulsed it with less than four hundred casualties total was nothing but a miracle of the Emperor Himself.

"Indeed." The powerful musculature of General Marov tensed visibly on the three-dimensional holo-projection, letting Daviev Larkine remember the man had won the Sub-Sector Laurels in his category of weight lifting twenty standard years ago.

"The orks numbers at the moment we speak are in the quarter-million range. Fifty thousand are close to the hollow asteroid they crashed with. They are a problem we can handle later. The other two hundred thousand however, are coming straight for the pass your regiment defends."

The Fay Colonel frowned. Even for orks...this tactical decision didn't make any sense. Given the poor intelligence of the average green xenos, it said quite a lot.

"Why?" Asked the man who one day ago had faced the imbecilic mobs of the greenskins in a short and furious clash. "They have crippled the best equipped regiments we had and routed the rest in the Borodino Plains! If they want to drive south and threaten the capital, the PDF is out of position to catch them!"

"Ah, but you forget the greatest weakness of a greenskin, Colonel." The austere expression of the General became lighter and a bit more patronising. "The orks want to fight. Yes, the passes leading to the capital are too weakly defended, but that's playing to our advantage. The xenos believe the infantry we have here will not give them a good fight-"

 _Well, it's not like they're wrong in this assumption, no?_

"-letting them search elsewhere for a battle." Ended Larkine. There was not a lot of doubt in the 20th commanding officer's mind that the troops defending this part of the front were thanking the Immortal Emperor for this last-minute miracle. Given the late performance of the PDF, letting fresh recruits or second-rate troops having a first war experience against the xenos menace was not described as a particularly good idea. And if the greenskins were not coming in his direction, Larkine would have probably cheered too.

"What can you tell me about this force?"

"Besides their numbers?"The rhetorical question could have been avoided in Daviev's opinion. "They have a lot of light and common vehicles. Bikes, truks, tanks, buggys, wagons, all that crap. The Emperor only knows how they are finding the fuel to move that many engines. Expect a lot of our own machines on the other side too. Leman Russes and Chimeras of the 1st and 3rd Armoured. They must have... between eleven and thirteen thousand vehicles in total? The analysts were unable to make more accurate predictions."

Marov did not appear convinced the estimates were correct, and it was hard to blame him. The PDF Military Intelligence on Fay III had massively degraded these last years, to the point the army and navy detente places had been filled with various jokes and humorous comments on their general capacity to know official meeting really took place. Counting ork tanks was probably way over their existing capabilities.

 _Thank the Emperor the other Armoured regiments have extricated themselves of this fiasco_ , thought the dark-haired Colonel. Dealing with the ork-modified tanks of two regiments was going to be a pain in the ass. To be polite. If the other five Colonels had not ordered the retreat eastwards when the defeat became evident, more machines would have been added to the orks considerable stocks of scrapped weaponry.

Exalted Marshal Ivan Byukur should have been tortured and shot as the imbecile-in-charge of this disaster. Alas the man had been skewered by a sort of xenos chopper and cut apart, depriving countless Fay regulars from a well-deserved revenge.

"Do they have many flyers?"

"No." This time was the sign of negation was firm. "Our aerial assets have watched them and bombarded them. They have a few fighter-bombers to cover the heart of their army, but it stops there. You will not have a lot of problems coming from the sky."

 _Thanks the Emperor for this small favour._

"I still need reinforcements to stop the orks." Reminded him politely Larkine. "I have exactly four thousand and eighty-two men fit for duty, and I don't need to tell you how low the regiment is in mechanised support. If I try to stop two hundred thousand orks at Ramev's Pass, they are going to eliminate my regiment from the battlefield before we have the time to react."

This was not defeatism, just basic arithmetic. Events of yesterday non-withstanding, the _Tactica Imperialis_ volumes recognised Imperium forces were able to deal three times their numbers of greenskins before facing what was euphemistically called an 'unfavourable rapport of strength'.

The current rapport of force was approximately forty-nine to one. And this was not taking into account the other overwhelming superiority of the orks in armour and artillery. It did not take a tactical genius to know the odds were stacked against you. Orks tanks and other motorised abominations had an appalling rate of failures, but not every machine of this considerable armoured force would break down on their way to battle Larkine's regiment.

"True." Acknowledged Marov. "I have already sent the 6th and the 8th of the Guard to reinforce you. That should give you eight thousand more men, give or take. Our Valkyries, Vultures and the other flyers we have are ready on the southern airfields to take off when the order is given. The 147th, 163rd and 182nd Infantry of the PDF are also on their way to your positions, but the estimates only give them a sixty per-cent chance to arrive in time."

Daviev made a rapid calculus in the privacy of his own mind. Adding the two other Guard forces to his own would raise his force roughly to twelve thousand men. If the PDF men managed to reach the 20th before the orks, this total would be multiplied by a bit more than two. Twenty-five thousand and five hundred soldiers of the Imperium. It sounded like a very impressive number. It wasn't.

 _In the best case, we are going to fight xenos outnumbering us six or seven-to-one_. _Joy_.

These were not odds which made an Imperium giddy and eager to rush in the melee. Well, not if you weren't born on Cadia or recruited to be one of His Angels of Death.

"And the good news?"

 _They really have to be good, else the orks are going to transform us in lunches for their squigs..._

"The Navy has finally dealt with its internal problems. In about ten hours, they will be ready to give you orbital support."

"Really?"

Larkine's tone was unconvinced. In the last session, the Overlord had promoted the naval version of the 'Exalted Idiot' to command his precious fleet. According to frequencies no loyal Colonel was supposed to know, Admiral Mikasev had turned what was a reliable squadron into a mix of rebellious warships where a pathetic spectacle of purges and free assassinations took place. The last rapid and informal report from the vox section coming from the capital had not pictured a pretty holo-picture.

Unless...unless Mikasev is not in charge anymore.

"Really." Affirmed the General with a lack of explanations which was suspicious by itself. "The warships in orbit are dealing with the mines, beacons and all the other surprises the Orks have left here. Once they have finished, they will be ready to carbonize the greenskins."

"Can't it wait after the xenos main army has been dealt with?" Daviev Larkine asked tartly. The tone was clearly unprofessional and was not one a mere Colonel should use in the presence of a General, PDF or not. But given the circumstances and the distance separating the two interlocutors...

"No. The debris the orks have left in orbit are not mere scrap. Each moment the beacons and these mines are active, they are emitting more power and will lure in our system thousands more of their xenos friends. Each day we wait augments the risk of another ork fleet coming out of the Warp and destroying what is left of our land forces. I do not have to tell you what a more powerful warband would make of our defences."

"Why weren't they noticed before?" The question was more coming from sheer exasperation than wanting a true explanation, but Marov decided to answer.

"The cogboys I have with me pretend the Warp-exit of the ork space-rock had hidden them all along. And then Mikasev ordered them to focus on this 'pirate'."

 _One more charge to add to the incompetence list of our Exalted-Overlord and his pet Admiral then. I wonder how the Nyx Headquarters are going to answer when they receive the news?_

"If it's the best the Navy can do, it's the best they can do." Reflected philosophically the Fay officer. "Either they will rescue my men...or they will avenge us."

"Let's pray it will be the former." Marov replied. "For the Emperor."

"For the Emperor, Larkine out."

A rapid combination on the table of command's runes, and the light of the hololith went out. Closing the last buttons of his coat, the 20th commanding officer left the tent and went out into the windy night.

"General Marov made no comments on General Syuev or Governor Byukur's authority, didn't he?"

Daviev inwardly cursed as the threatening figure of Commissar Zuhev emerged from the night, like these birds of prey searching for attracting meat pieces to swallow. Everyone knew Commissars were listening the communications of a regiment, but seeing it confirmed in this manner was never an enjoyable experience.

"No, he didn't." Replied the Colonel after a brief moment of silence.

The Commissar closed the distance, and Larkine noticed that unlike him, Zuhev looked at the peak of his physical form, ready to shoot a heretic or two and lead a charge against the orks. The Colonel had no idea how the agent of Commissariat managed this feat. All day Zuhev had been overseeing the work on the defensive positions, the supplies, the officers, the ranks, everything. He was quoting legendary Lord Commissars and imposing his harsh discipline. Daviev had done the same thing until his bones ached and now he felt dead on his feet.

"Why didn't you ask? The duty of an officer of His Holy Majesty-"

"Commissar. Assuming General Marov told me a coup has just taken place in Great Landing and he is one of the leaders, what could I do?"

To his credit, Commissar Zuhev didn't answer. Which was good, because the answer was 'absolutely nothing'. The two men passed before a few tents, before arriving in view of the trenches. Since the orks last offensive, the gaps in the defences had been filled. More trenches had been added, along with other nasty surprises for the greenskins stupid enough to adventure themselves in the 20th killing grounds. But this was not this no-man's land that was attracting their attention tonight. It was the stars and the mini-fireworks which could be seen tens of thousands metres above the regiment.

"The orks beacons?"

"It might be there are really mines and other things in space to destroy. Or they may purge Mikasev's supporters and the Exalted Guard on our orbital stations. We simply have no way to know with our limited portable auspexes."

"There's nothing to do?"

"Survive." A grimace crisped the visage of the Colonel. "The orks remain the bigger threat. There always will be time to discover who is in command if we win the battle."

"The Administratum and the Mechanicus aren't going to like what happened here on Fay III."

Understatement of the year, Larkine recognised. Of course, Fay III was a second-class Civilised World with no major contribution to the Navy or the Guard, not a Hive World...but heads had rolled for far less in times pasts.

"For sure." Admitted Larkine, trying hard not to think about all these planets which had been transformed into labour camps and conscripted in the penal legions. "But they aren't here...yet."

The last word was pronounced with hope and dread combined.

"I will take one hour or two of sleep before the men of the 6th and the 8th arrive. And after that..."

Daviev Larkine paused a few seconds, searching for some eloquent words and failing to find them. Instead he finished simply by:

"After that the last battle to save our planet will begin."

 _And I will have to ask a second miracle of the young girl who saved us in the first place._

* * *

 **Taylor Hebert**

When she thought about it, Taylor realised it was scary how many times she went to the hospital or required emergency healing in her life.

There was at least a good thing about it. Military or not, know or unknown countries, portable or not, hospitals were the same. The clothes, beds, walls, tents...everything was white. The nurses were extremely authoritarian, and while no one had chained her to her bed like in Brockton Bay after Leviathan attack, there was a look in the eyes of the medical personnel you ignored at your risks and perils. At least they had not Panacea honouring the place of her presence, which was something between a curse and a blessing.

Too bad because the parahuman healer would have been her salvation -assuming she had accepted to heal her-in this hospital of another world: the food was still awful. The 'lunch' Taylor had been presented a few hours ago was infect. It was like a soup...but the cook who had imagined the meal had sadly thrown the nutrients without accounting for the taste of the thing. The best thing one could say about it...well, it was a hot meal. On the downside, the appearance had been coordinated with the taste: infect. The former villain known as Skitter was under no illusion that after a few days of such a culinary treatment, the majority of the patients fled the tent-hospital and returned to their duties, whatever they were.

At least this time the nurses who had treated her had diagnosed her with nothing more dangerous than exhaustion, mild dehydration, and a need to eat more food. Pronounced in a curious accent that mangled the vowels of the English language, the women in white carrying the double-eagle in gold had assured the rehabilitated parahuman she would be able to leave 'soon'. Taylor's fainting had only lasted an hour or two, evidence provided by the position of the sun and the fact the soldiers were just starting to burn the corpses of the enemy.

Enemy. A strange thing to consider, as Taylor in her Weaver persona had met for the first time the green aliens for no more than five or six hours ago at that time. But as the medical personnel of this place had pushed her on a bed and then placed food and water in front of her, the short period of calm had allowed the newly renamed heroine to collect her thoughts.

The things who had attacked the soldiers had been a lot of things, but certainly not human. Worse, they certainly had not been friendly. Green, loud, determined to kill everything in their way. The humans fighting had hardly been the poster for humanitarian care; in fact they rather looked like a mild version of the Nazis with a futurist armament. Despite this, the men and the women in grey uniforms had clearly been the good side. Taylor was aware that alone against an army of these things, she would be dead. For some reason, she doubted the monsters had signed the Geneva Convention. Or that they recognised any humane version of a prisoner-of-war convention for that matter. At least, the name of these aliens had been repeated enough in the aftermath of the battle in Taylor or her bug's vicinity to know the name of the threat they had faced.

Orks. They looked like an extremely bad joke grabbed from a fantasy book, except the joke here had been scary and real. Ork. A name at the image of the aliens. Brutal, monstrous, war-like. Although the guards, nurses and sentinels in the camp seemed to have plenty of nicknames to give them. Greenskins. Green brutes. Vermin. Green tide. Unless everything was a massive disinformation like the ones the Parahuman Response Teams had routinely tried in the United States, the orks were really something dangerous, vicious and not to discuss with.

The good points in this new situation were far better than two days ago, Taylor had to admit. First, there was no Endbringer in sight-unless she was plunged in a huge hallucination caused by the Simurgh- which was definitely soothing for her peace of mind. As bad as these aliens were, the last battle they did not have anything bigger than tanks. More in her capacities than a gigantic colossus invulnerable to nuclear attacks.

Secondly, this 'Guard' and the 'Imperium' were far more courteous than anything the Protectorate and Armsmaster had ever done before her arrest in Brockton Bay. Once she had emerged from unconsciousness, the officer in command, a certain Colonel Larkine, had come to present his apologies for involving her in a do-or-die battle. His second in command the dark-haired man had affirmed, a certain Major Dalten, should have made sure she was secure behind the frontlines, not fighting head-on the enraged orks. That said, having participated in the death of a powerful Ork leader, Taylor would receive several awards for bravery and a modest financial recompense once the campaign was over.

As her clothes and her equipment had been examined and been judged free of any 'Chaos-taint',-whatever that was-, they would be cleaned of all the blood and restored to pristine condition. Suggestions to rest and recover to full health had been provided. The main argument was that there was plenty of time available before dealing with paperwork, boring formalities and the future.

After that the man had left and Taylor had been left on her own, free to grab a few hours of sleep and ignore all the whispers heard by her bugs all over the military camp.

Once Taylor had woke up, she had acknowledged how good it was to be appreciated by the women of the hospital...unfortunately while she tried to think about this upturned situation, Weaver was remembered that as much this last battle had been a victory, New Delhi was a major defeat. The teenager girl didn't know what happened to Lisa and the other Undersiders, but Taylor was ready to bet it wasn't anything good. The capital of India had been thoroughly demolished, and of the only survivors of the villain-heroes coalition, neither Regent, nor Grue, Tattletale or Bitch had been here.

Taylor felt something dolorous form in her stomach and tears flow from her eyes. After everything, after Leviathan, the Slaughterhouse Nine, Echidna and everything, they were...gone. One more time, the Hero-Killer had won and destroyed everyone's hope. Sobbing, she wiped away her tears with the white cloth that she was now wearing.

Taylor was at this state of her reflexion when another person entered the hospital-tent, and this one was as far removed from a nurse or a doctor as it was possible.

The newcomer did not look like a human at all. Okay, it was a human, but not like Taylor or the other nurses, soldiers and everyone she had seen since she had crossed this portal. Half of his body was metal: there was a large metallic respirator covering the lower part of his visage. One of his eyes was of a red electronic colour. His two legs were an assemblage of pistons, resorts and steel plates. Everywhere on his torso and arms, tendrils came in and out, with the noises a steam engine normally made. A large red-robe covered much of his transformed body, but it was enough to understand this had been a process made during the man's life, and that the changes went well beyond simple appearance.

Really, Earth-Aleph film fans would have described him as a hybrid of human and Terminator. The large cables and pack emitting low-level sounds supported this idea.

Unlike the soldiers, the double-eagle was not present on his red robe. There was however a human skull symbol, half of the head being white on black background, and the other half being half black on white. Maybe a different faction of this 'Empire'?

"The greetings of the Omnissiah on you, Taylor Hebert." Evidently the...man-machine had somehow learnt her name, which she had given the Colonel before going to the hospital. Contrary to all her expectations, the eyes of her interlocutor went not to her face or her body covered by the hospital gown, but to her clothes and her dorsal reactor, all posed on the nearby portable table.

Concerning the voice, the tone was pleasant, but was very...mechanic.

"The same to you." Replied the parahuman, feeling a bit bewildered as the breather had not moved a bit mind. "I'm sorry, but I don't know your name?"

"I am Tech-Priest Morkys, Senior Adeptus Mechanicus delegated to the 20th Fay Infantry Guard." Presented himself the man with perhaps an inch of pride in the artificial voice. "I suppose you have many questions to ask."

"Yes. Can you tell me where am I please?" By the means of the hundreds of insect under her control, Weaver had heard places like 'Great Landing', 'Fay' and 'Ramev's Pass' be mentioned, but despite being quite good in geography, no class course Taylor had ever taken had talked about such locations. Add the presence of these 'orks', and Taylor had a very bad feeling she was not in the dimension of Earth Beta anymore.

"You are on the planet Fay III of the Fay System, Moros Sub-Sector, Nyx Sector, Ultima Segmentum, a world answering to the Holy Rule of the Omnissiah."

Taylor for a moment tried to assimilate the information the Tech-Priest provided...and failed. It was far worse than she imagined. Unless Fay was this name of the dimension for Earth, there was a very high possibility of not only having changed of dimension, but of planet as well.

 _This is so wrong...how am going to return home?_

"Er...fine. How far are we from Earth?"

After all if Tech-Priest Morkys was an indicator of how advanced their technology was, the possibility existed, however remote, to go back to her home planet. Crossing directions promised to be far more difficult, as this was not exactly a common parahuman power, but...

"As fraction 006, year 289, millennium 35, there were 114 630 listed planets of the Imperium including the word 'Earth' in their name." Answered the strange red-robed man-machine, sounding perplexed with a few buzzes at the end of his sentences. "I am going to need more precise data than this."

This...this is insane. Over a hundred thousand planets? For a simple word? The Empire in the Star Wars movies of Earth Aleph is not supposed to be that immense!

"We have nine planets in the Solar System orbiting a yellow star." For once, Taylor tried to assess the situation as calmly as possible. If Morkys needed to have many spatial references, then she would provide them. "Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto. Between Mars and Jupiter there is a large asteroid belt. Mars has two moons named Phobos and Deimos. Earth has one moon."

This time it was the Tech-Priest who fell in what had to be for a Terminator the ultimate state of shock. His tendrils all fell down on his sides, and his mechanisms all appeared to stop in an instant.

"Calculations will not be necessary, in the end." The static in the mechanic tone could have been the equivalent of a laughter. Or someone who had seen his wildest dreams be realised. With this machine and the red robe covering over half of his head, it was difficult to tell honestly.

"Why?"

"Which year was it when you left your Earth?" The apparently unrelated question made Taylor frown.

"2011."

"Anno Domini?" The tone of Morkys changed, as if speaking the Latin word was letting him access to a whole new level of magnificence and nobility.

"Yes." The Tech-Priest nodded slowly, as if he had understood a very complex problem and the solution had always been before his eyes.

"With a margin of one millionth per-cent of error, I am able to assess you are from the Blessed Solar System of Holy Terra, Throne World of Mankind, where Blessed Mars, our triple-sacred planet and most important Forge World orbits the Sun. "

Taylor almost didn't believe what her ears transmitted. But the devotion and the conviction the elocution was announced by the Mechanicus man told this was no comedy.

"Simple arithmetic conversions are sufficient to estimate you are thirty-three thousands and two hundred seventy-eight years in the future."

"There must be a mistake!" Exclaimed the bug-controller.

Time-travel was exciting for movies, but even parahumans abilities rarely interacted with objects or living things more than a few minutes. Clockblocker had been a good example of said time-stopping abilities.

The only parahuman to wield abilities on a years-scale had been Grey Boy, the infamous member of the Slaughterhouse Nine, and he had been dead for years. Still, even for this sociopath, a travel of thirty-thousand plus-years was outright impossible.

"All mistakes have been taken into account and are in the error margin." The Tech-Priest had obviously a little difficulty to recognise rhetorical affirmations and humour. "2011 was the start of the Third Millennium, when humanity began its ascension towards its rightful destiny and its conquest of the stars. It is the 35th Millennium..."

"And as the Emperor sits on the Golden Throne eternally vigilant His armies have to fight and preserve the Imperium."


	5. Arrival 1-4 Shield of Fay

**Arrival 1.4**

 **Shield of Fay**

 _That the Second Battle of Ramev Pass was of an unimaginable ferocity was not a surprise. When the enemy is the Orks, Imperial commanders have long since learnt to expect the worse from the very beginning._

 _What was more surprising was the scenario of the destructive engagement. By all rights, the Guard and PDF regiments' only choice was to stand on the defensive. The orks rushing to kill them were too numerous, had too many war machines and had destroyed mere days ago a human army far more powerful and motivated than this one. Even in this case, the simulations gave to the Fay 20_ _th_ _and its reinforcements exactly 2.476% of chance to stop the greenskins the time necessary for the Navy and support to reinforce them. Several generals of the time were known to comment the simple act of delaying the green tides by two or three hours in the mountains where orbital strikes could easily obliterate them would already be a fantastic victory._

 _But this time, the paradigm changed. For the first time in their long and bloody history, the orks faced a strategist more unpredictable than them. The xenos did not find an answer on this day. To give the monsters their due, there were far from the only ones to bite the dust that decade in the Nyx Sector._

 _Lady Weaver has never been viewed as a commander easy to counter..._

By Retired General Tereyev _,_ _The Ocean of War_ _,_ 510M35 _._

" _The orks are a permanent danger for this galaxy_." Taylor 'Weaver' Hebert, 294M35.

" _The Emperor protects. Kill every last one_." Attributed to Ezekyle Abaddon, Ullanor Crusade, M31.

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Moros Sub-Sector**

 **Fay system**

 **Planet Fay III**

 **7.177.289M35**

Thought for the day: No man that died in the Emperor's service died in vain.

 **Tech-Priest Enginseer Morkys**

Every member of the Adeptus Mechanicus was taught at a young age he or she was but a small cog in the great machine serving the Omnissiah. A small piece in an ocean of machinery, but one which had to devote all it had all the same in the Quest of Knowledge.

Tech-Priest Enginseer Minoris Arcturus Morkys knew this lesson very well and had accepted it long before he reached his current age of forty-six Terran standard years. Despite the respect an Enginseer earned when he was attached with a regiment of the Astra Militarum, the reality was that in the vast and holy ranks of the Priesthood of Mars, Morkys was a non-entity. Enginseers were never highly considered by the Fabricators and the Arch-Magos. Repairing a tank and appeasing its venerable machine spirit was useful for the battles waged against xenos and the other enemies of the Omnissiah, but the utility of this ability in the sacred Quest for Knowledge was nearing the absolute number of zero. In the first years of his initiation on the industrial world of Harbin II, this fact had been revealed to him into a concise and precise manner. But his dedication to repair the tanks had been the strongest.

Accepting the teachings of the Machine-God had brought him in the middle of the wilderness, towing a broken Tauros with a big red flag on it to its final place of rest. Following him and his Atlas recovery tank, the two servitors under his command poured litres of adulterated syrup in the neat holes dug mere minutes ago.

Sometimes, was forced to conclude Morkys, the Omnissiah truly worked in mysterious ways indeed.

The low noise of boots hammering the ground stopped the manipulation his large mechadendrite was engaged in. Turning his head twenty-five degrees, the Tech-Priest saw a familiar silhouette with black clothes and an infamous cap close the space with long stride and the rigid posture common to all men taught by the Schola Progenium.

"Commissar Zuhev."

The members of the Imperial Guard regiment who took care of the machines and did their best to satisfy the machine spirits were usually granted one platitude. For an illogical reason, non-Mechanicus members seemed to take those with gratitude. The man in front of it had never been granted one.

"Tech-Priest."

Morkys didn't like the Commissar. According to the few simulations he had made in his spare time, the feeling was mutual. The bag of flesh and bones was incredibly stubborn, unwilling to consider the arguments brought by simulations, logistics and researched tactics. His management of human resources was illogical and detrimental to the regiment's effectiveness. During the Petersburg Campaign, Zuhev had terminated privates who could have been augmented or turned into servitors. Not to mention the abandonment of a loyal servant of the Machine God at the jaws of the orks whose only crime had been to try the reparation of a still operable Chimera.

The Commissar's commands to attack no matter the opposition had led to disaster for the company he was charged to augment the 'fighting spirit'. As far as the Enginseer was concerned, the only act made by Zuhev which had improved the efficiency of the Fay 20th had been the summary execution of the Ecclesiarchy representative. Given the long and bitter rivalry between Mars and the Ministorum, the Tech-Priest was not going to waste cycles of his cogitators in remembrance of this waste of oxygen. The problem in these calculations was the fact Zuhev would have not hesitated one single instant to shoot him in the same manner, forcing him from that point to protect his primary organs and data cores. Just in case.

"You have come to oversee the preparations?"

The probability of this question being answered positively was remote, but even a Tech-Priest was allowed hope in his long service to Blessed Mars. Alas, watching under several different optical filters Zuhev's grim face made it plain the Ordo Tempestus delegate had not come to establish his lack of knowledge in fortifications.

"I have come to...urge you to reconsider your stance concerning the here-the young woman who fought in the last battle."

Morkys emitted in the blessed binary language the equivalent of a sigh. One hundred per-cent of chance the Commissar has wanted to pronounce the noun 'heretic', but had reversed his position at the last moment.

 _You are a very predictable equation, Zuhev_.

In sixty-nine times out of a hundred, the 20th Enginseer Minoris had determined the man of the Schola Progenium's predictability made him an asset. Unfortunately, that left the part of the thirty-one per-cent where the Commissar was a nuisance for the interests of the Mechanicus and one Arcturus Morkys. Past experience and one cycle of cogitator-prediction told Morkys the conversation to come was going to belong in the latter category.

"This is not the time or the place to discuss it."

There. A simple and logical statement, and no need to misdirect the facts. Surely this disgrace to the exalted machine spirit of his chainsword understood it was better to confront the orks first and consider the lesser matters after?

"If she is warp-tainted, immediate execution is required. I have the full authority of the Commissariat behind me. This is exactly the time and the place to decide it."

And the simulations had not been wrong. Cursing the Commissar to an eternity of hell in the realm of the Omnissiah in binary language, Morkys activated two secondary systems of armament under his robes. Colonel Larkine had been extremely appreciative of the newcomer's intervention to save the regiment. The data slates compiled by Morkys himself had increased this rate of popularity in the Mechanicus and Guard numbers.

Zuhev, on the other hand, had militated for Hebert's execution, at the great horror of the officers present when he made this remark. The Colonel had followed the logic and denied Zuhev, but formal orders were not going to stop this being always raging against logic and the blessings of the Omnissiah. Morkys suspected the Commissar was sometimes suspecting everyone, even the destroyed servitors unable to move and receive the proper orders of the Mechanicus Tech-Priests.

"Your argument is empty of sense." Morkys replied. "The young warrior called 'Taylor' can't be warp-tainted. On the Assignment twenty-four point scale, her psionic results were those of an Upsilon-level individual. This is a negative psionic level, granting her solid immunity to the pernicious influence of the Empyrean. This immunity is holding firm and I see no reason to conclude otherwise."

"Then explain me Tech-Priest how she got those powers."

"I can't. Not without much experimentation, analysis and explanations from her."

In fact this was why Taylor Hebert –or Weaver, Morkys wasn't sure why she had given first this name to the 20th – was properly invaluable for the Mechanicus...and the Imperium of course. A loyal psyker having the power to control insects like the young woman did was invaluable. The galaxy had plenty of worlds where dangerous insect species were uncountable, the name of Catachan being a very renowned example. But in the last centuries, too many times control of the insects and the diseases they carried had been a domain reserved to the Arch-Enemy of the Machine.

Therefore, a non-psyker having this set of abilities was literally priceless. The archeotech carried on her back was just as important, though his limited auspexes had not allowed him to fully examine it before the Colonel politely escorted him out of the tent. By the oaths he had given to Blessed Mars, it was Morkys sacred duty to ensure this exceptional potential asset was not compromised.

"How typical. And I assume you believe that she comes from the past too?"

This time the Enginseer chose carefully his words, least they were associated with what Zuhev no doubt considered blasphemy and heresy by his narrow-minded brain. The sneer of the Commissar was all the indication the Enginseer needed of his beliefs.

"Weaver's very blood confirms her words. Her genetic code matches the theoretical reconstitutions the Magos of Mars have made of the M3 human genome."

"Ridiculous."

"Can you explain the formation of Space Hulks with certainty?" Retorted Morkys. "Then don't be so illogical in rejecting something just because it offends your judgement."

"It's still ridiculous." Persisted the black-clothed terror of recruits and veterans alike. The Tech-Priest had suddenly the vengeful idea of using some favours to invite a Genetor to the Fay system. No doubt a master of the genetic studies would slowly dissect his interlocutor?

Banishing these oh so satisfying scenarios from his train of thought, the Enginseer assigned to the 20th decided to end the conversation. The orks were closing, and by simple law of nature the work wasn't going to do itself. There were Basilisks to calibrate, Chimeras to inspect and shells to load in the cannons.

"Will that be all? Commissar."

The outward perspective projected by a Mechanicus adept was of a being difficult to assess, but in this case, Morkys decided to make an exception. Losing a valuable amount of time in the hope a logical priest might change the facts to support his error-prone views was singularly irritating. Not to mention wasteful in the extreme when the imminent threat of the green abominations got nearer.

Too predictably, Zuhev hadn't changed his mind and the hints placed at logical intervals in the conversation hadn't been enough to deter him.

"If I find any hint of treachery or heresy in her, I will execute the sentence the Emperor's Commissariat reserves to such abominations."

"You will not." Affirmed Morkys. "In the name of the Omnissiah I defend it."

"Is that a threat?" The Commissar of the 20th did his best to be intimidating, but for a Tech-Priest used to report data to far more intimidating supervisors, this posture was pointless.

"No. A statistical certainty."

"A statistical certainty?" Answered the man, obviously utterly ignorant of the greater mysteries of the cogs and gears.

"Yes, a statistical certainty." Said the Enginseer readjusting the red robes of his Priesthood. "If I learn you have attempted to let a single blood sample of Taylor Hebert, turning you into a servitor will have one hundred per-cent chance of being a kinder fate compared to what I will do to you."

 _And perhaps I will send your screaming remains to a Genetor after that_. _The Omnissiah knows you deserve it._

* * *

 **Ovael the Maleficent**

The succession of profanities Ovael screamed when his attack bike engine exploded would have been enough for an Inquisitor to denounce him as a heretic. Of course, the traitor Blood Raven was already one, making this little religious point kind of moot. When one worshipped Chaos, insults against the God-Emperor and his authorities were relative minor infractions after all.

Not that it figured at the first place of his preoccupations. The explosion was warp-enhanced due to the daemonic nature of the bike, and had sent the leader of the destroyed Sons of Sorcery in a majestic glide over the remnants of his broken machine. Had a servo-skull passed in this war zone, no doubt a fantastic pict capture cliché could have been made. As it was, this priceless opportunity for the Imperium propaganda services was lost.

Despite the legendary reflexes of an Astartes, the collision with the ground was a particularly unpleasant and humiliating one. Ovael's very transhuman nature ensured he was standing on his legs mere seconds after the shock when an ordinary human would be dead or seriously crippled, but the stimulation of his muscles and the alarms sent by his battle-armour notified him the event had done quite a bit of damage at the worst possible moment. One of the horns coming out of his helmet was broken, its extremity lying at his armoured feet. The blue and gold colours were partially covered in dust and grass, giving Ovael a camouflage appearance for a few seconds before the Space Marine brushed it away furiously.

 _I hate this planet. First my last ship. Then the last members of my warband because of these greenskins vermin. My attack bike. Tzeentch and the demons of the Warp must laugh at my misfortunes._

With great effort, Ovael stopped his thoughts before his imagination carried him to unsatisfying places. Those serving the powers of Chaos who asked openly what nefarious thing was going to happen to them next were too often answered in a matter of seconds by a horrible mutation. One psychic command, and the Rubric Marine accompanying him stood up from the broken parts of the bike.

 _What to do?_

In the distance, large dust clouds indicated that the kilometres gained from his orks pursuers in the last hours were not going to last. Worse, the demolished bike was burning in a warp-fuelled fire, attracting any marauder ork from ten kilometres away if not more. The Chaos Space Marine was out of range of the scrap-things orks called their vehicles for the moment, but the noise and their shouts were received by his ears, courtesy of his augmented hearing. They had not noticed his fall, but it was only a question of time. After that, the rain of missiles would not be long in coming.

"The orks are closing on us." No Space Marine could feel fear of course, but the blood in Ovael's augmented veins was quite a commendable substitute. The comment did not let him feel better. The silence surrounding him was too heavy for that.

There was no mocking laughter from the voices in his head this time. The Thousand Son trapped in his blue-gold armour stayed silent as always, unable to talk and to act on his own volition. It was great for an ambitious sorcerer when he wanted someone to obey his orders unquestioningly, but bad when an open conversation was required.

Examining the situation over and over again, the traitor Astartes was not finding a lot of ways to solve his predicaments. One demonically-possessed chainsword, a bolter MK IVe with one hundred and twenty rounds of ammunition – in other words six reloads - and his powers of psyker, plus the help of the Rubric Marine. For ten minutes of slaughter with nothing more dangerous than a cultist in front of him, this would be fine. Against the number of orks following him, better not to think about it.

Ovael was at the feet of the mountain range, but without a vehicle, it wasn't going to do him any good. Sighing, the former Blood Raven sent a mind command to his servitor. The Rubric marched, and gave him in the palm of his armoured hand an amulet the Sons of Sorcery had stolen at Vissian VI. The battle against Exodite Eldars had cost the lives of three battle-brothers that day...and the sorceries unleashed in the aftermath had cost many more. Now was the time to see if their lives had been lost for something valuable. The Chaos sorcerer pronounced seventeen words, each one burning him in the chest more painfully than the previous one. Words which belonged to no human language. Words which hurt reality as much as Ovael himself. Blood flowing into his mouth, the Space Marine gave his instructions to the amulet, which was now floating in the air surrounded by a light violet halo.

"Show me the direction of the nearest spaceport."

The amulet shone of a putrid purple colour before blinking twice and manifesting over twenty rays of magic going in every direction possible. What this spectacle of colour and power meant, Ovael hadn't the slightest clue. None of the lore he had stolen in the last century had told him how to interpret phenomena like this!

"Show me the way to take a warship and leave this planet!" Roared Ovael.

This time the lights changed to show three light rays...all pointing towards the ork horde.

"Useless. I should have known this Eldar witch was lying when I tortured the information out of her. A path-finder, what a stupid idea."

The blue fist of the Space Marine was about to crush the chaotic artefact into splinters when an idea formed into Ovael's mind. With his warband dead, the possibility of recruiting new canon-fodder had considerably augmented. Usually, the mutants and rogue psykers who were trailing in his company were discouraging recruitment. Without them, prospects were looking up. The world he was marching on was far from any core world of the Ultima Segmentum. It was likely the inhabitants venerating the Corpse-God had never seen an Astartes in millennia. And possibly the same thing was true of Inquisitors, daemons and all sort of Warp-taints.

The once-loyal Astartes was not in the mood to laugh, but an evil smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"Show me the way to the biggest human army defending this planet."

This time a single arrow of purple line pointed to a nearby pass.

"Much better." Nodded in approval the Astartes. _Perhaps Tzeentch has not abandoned me_...

"Well. It seems you were useful in the end." Told the former Blood Raven to the corrupted artefact. It was still pulsating in a purple aura, and the Captain growled realising he had not asked the former owner how to deactivate it.

Fortunately the Traitor Marine had his helmet on, as it was the time the Eldar amulet chose to explode like a krak grenade.

Behind him, the war screams of several thousands orks mounted to the skies.

* * *

 **Colonel Daviev Larkine**

"The birds of the Aeronautica have shot their bolt, Colonel. General Markov has given the order for them to withdraw and rearm. They have thinned the horde a bit."

The voice of Lieutenant Masev when the young man put down his headgear to reveal the content of the last vox conversation could have been more cheerful and optimistic. His superior guessed something had gone wrong. A cynical officer would add the 'again' after this sentence, considering the many debacles suffered by the Imperium on Fay this last days.

"I'm not sure how much is 'a bit'."Replied Larkine. "I'm going to need more accurate figures than that."

In the background a dozen of servo-skulls passed, followed by a messenger cherub carrying a pile of data-slate. A chronometric display switched off, and a cogboy ran with a few spare parts under his mechanical arm to repair it.

"Twenty thousand orks killed?" The tone employed could have hardly been less convincing. The other vox operators present in the room did their best to look occupied and not confirm what their officer had just spoken.

 _Let's just hope they didn't throw their bombs away when the ork flyers intercepted them..._

In any case, that still left over a hundred and eighty thousands orks to kill. Somehow, Larkine doubted a second attack would go better, even if they had suffered absolutely no loss in their approach. Speaking of which...

"Do we know the extent of the losses suffered by the air fleet?"

"Six Marauders, nine Barbarians interceptors and eleven Valkyries outright destroyed." Masev bit his lip, visibly ill-at-ease. "At least five others Marauders have suffered various degrees of damage."

The 20th Commanding officer exchanged a glance with Major Ilvyna Dalten to his right. His second-in-command and him may not seen eye to eye on many things, but both knew when they heard bad news. Marauder bombers when it came to battle were vastly more resistant than Interceptors or Valkyries due to their heavy plasteel armour. The losses in these latter two categories of flyers had thus to be several times higher. Also telling that no one had told Masev the specifics of the damage the greenskins had inflicted.

By the way, Ilvyna was grimacing, the beautiful and deadly Major had also understood that whatever second wave the Aeronautica would scrap together, it would considerably weaker. The flyers had begun the day with twenty-five to thirty Marauders, sixty Barbarians and two hundred Valkyries. If half of that participated in a new attack, it would be exceptional...and miraculous if the bombers launched before the ground forces and the orks started their mutual slaughter.

"Thank you Lieutenant."

Daviev left the dozen men occupying the vox section and left the fortified hole where the communications section had been buried after the first onslaught, his blonde second on his heels.

Avoiding several warrant officers running in every direction with oil and grease spread on their uniform, the two officers progressed in what had become in the last days a very fortified position. The traps had multiplied like horny animals, hundreds of mines had been emplaced and considerable amount of weaponry and laser packs had been brought forwards. Hundreds of metres of razorwire had been redeployed. Several turrets had been buried in the ground, the vehicles they were coming from having been crippled beforehand. The sandbags had been replaced, and four more anti-tank ditches had been dug.

These preparations had not been without effect on the landscape. The fresh grass of the mountains had almost disappeared due to the tons of earth dug and swept aside by the men of the Emperor and the machines of the Tech-Priests. Thousands of boots striking the earth had finished the job. Ramev's Pass was now a bastion of the Imperium, an iron wall of the God-Emperor to crush the xenos...now they were going to see if it held.

Moving around a Basilisk which was moving slowly to its designed location, Larkine and Dalten entered quickly in a tent marked of the golden Aquila, after having received quick nods from two hidden men near an empty case of anti-armour shells.

There were four men waiting for them inside. The first two were known to the officers of the Fay 20th, though they had hardly spoken more than the usual pleasantries discussed in the headquarters of a general before the official beginning of a campaign. Colonel Petan 'Petard' Guliev, a very large black-haired man with several impressive tattoos on his right arm to cover his ugly scars, was commanding the 8th Fay Infantry of the Guard. With the appropriate training, Guliev would have had a bull-like constitution, but the rumours telling of his laziness had at least a finger or two of truth. The 8th CO was fat. There was nothing to add to this. On his left was Colonel Klux 'Demolisher' Zubrov, in charge of the 11th Fay Infantry of the Guard. Unlike Guliev, Zubrov looked and acted the part of the proud and determined officer of His Most Holy Majesty. Brown-haired with a musculature far surpassing Larkine's, several times the Administratum had used pictures of him to boost the recruitment rates. Originally having applied for a tankman's commission, the Departmento Munitorum paper-crushers had judged less costly to put the bloodthirsty enthusiast in the infantry.

As always the opinion of the bureaucrats had been less than stellar, and that was an understatement of the highest order. At Petersburg, Zubrov had charged with his regiment into the first horde of orks he met, instead of staying in the defensive like their orders demanded. Consequently, the 11th had been the first Fay regiment to suffer over eighty per-cent of casualties in less than two hours. Only Zubrov's second cousin position in the Munitorum and his family ties to several generals had prevented a court-martial from being convened. Larkine had many reservations to see him under his command, the ability of Zubrov to follow a plan being quite problematic.

But those two had seen the orks in action and as a result had some experience of fighting the greenskins. The two other men on the seats to their right could not claim the same. Colonel Maxim Loktor of the PDF 147th was a brown-haired slim youngster, one who could not have reached his present position without a large support from the Byukur dynasty. As for Colonel Togur Morogov of the 182nd, he was easily surpassing all the officers present in vice and sin. Daviev would never pretend to be a paragon worthy of Ecclesiarchy sainthood, but the 20th of the Guard had been ready to fight against the orks when the order was given by High Command, and the same was true of the 8th, the 11th and the 147th. The 182nd wasn't ready; half of its standard complement of men was still missing as he sat before the hololith detailing the future battlefield of the Fay armies. And to be honest, the commanding officer of the 20th started to have some doubts these men had existed at all. It would not be the first time a superior officer told figures but filled his pockets with the Throne Gelts one was supposed to spend in training, salaries and equipment.

"The orks will be upon us in less than an hour so I will not waste your time. It seems the vermin xenos wasn't as weak in the air as General Markov thought."

Which meant, and all the women and the men able to hear the sentence in the vicinity knew it, that the intelligence services of the PDF were responsible for another monumental disaster. No Commissar was present –all the political officers were busy motivating the recruits for the carnage to come- but none doubted this conversation was monitored via servo-skull or another more subtle method. In this case, better be careful with one's words. It would be stupid to survive the orks only to be shot by the Commissariat after the hostilities for disloyalty and treason.

"I demand the honour of my regiment drawing blood first." Declared in a warlike-fashion Zubrov.

"Yes!" Yapped Morogov with a suddenness only attracting the issue he didn't want to rush on the battlefield first. "General Zubrov is the obvious choice to lead the offensive!"

"Granted." Said Larkine after pausing a few seconds to maintain the appearance of deliberation.

 _Thanks you to offer you as bait, Colonel. I appreciate the spirit, although I'm sure a lot of your men aren't going to share you eagerness._

Not that putting the 11th on the first lines to receive the charge of the orks was a bad tactical choice. Zubrov's regiment had been reequipped with far more machines than the 20th: twenty Chimeras, two Hellhounds, twenty Sentinels, five Salamanders and a large numbers of Tauroxes and Tauroses in support. Plus five Basilisks. It was far better than the six Chimeras, four Tauroxes and nine Tauros his own regiment had started the last clash with.

The next minutes went fast. Between Guliev, Zobrov and himself, the hundreds of men which had not been assigned a clear role were assigned their positions, with a portable vox-set and a dozen messengers charged of the transmission of said orders. Sadly, if the two other colonels proved amenable to his plan in spite of not being revealed all its intricacies, the two PDF were almost useless in their contributions. Loktor was looking like a horned rabbit of the mountains which would have been slammed into by a Leman Russ, and Morogov was doing his best to be perceived as a cow-walrus of the Fay oceans. It wasn't inspiring great comfort at the eve of a decisive battle.

"Other questions?"

"Hmm...yes." The voice of Maxim Loktor was so low it was only a level higher than a whisper. "There was a logistical error from headquarters and we have received several crates of a new publication called _The Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer_ which were supposed to be sent to the 11th. I wanted to know if these books were valuable."

Ilvyna's mouth lightly twisted into an amused smile. Colonel Zubrov was far more expressive and burst into laughter.

"That depends entirely if you consider using them as toilet paper is valuable." Grunted Guliev. The way his massive hands moved suggested strongly the answer was 'no'.

"But the information in these pages..." Insisted Loktor, unwillingly revealing he had opened and read the content of this idiotic publication.

"Is a pack of lies." Asserted Zubrov bluntly. "Well," amended the offensive Colonel "except the part about the Commissariat shooting you of course."

 _Ah, yes that part. How could we forget it, I wonder?_

"Even the parts about the greenskins?"

"Especially the parts about the greenskins." Commented Larkin's second-in-command. "The orks are no tiny green things ready to run at the first sound of lasfire, Colonel. There are vicious beasts living only for battle and bathing in blood."

"But...how can we hope to win against such numbers?" Whined the officer who had by all accounts had been elevated way past his level of competence and ability to maintain a cold-blooded attitude.

"We have the God-Emperor with us." Reminded him Zubrov, before their PDF colleague passed a line and went into the defeatist category.

"Ah, yes. Yes, indeed." Loktor nodded vigorously, perhaps to dissuade himself from a path which was not far from seeing him removed from his commission and sent in front of an execution squad.

The shrieking noise of alarms stopped this uncomfortable conversation. All this talk about orks had apparently attracted the xenos.

"It's time. Go back to your commands." By a miracle only known to the God-Emperor and his commissars, Zuhev had teleported himself behind Larkine's seat, making the colonels and the major almost jump and seize their laspistols.

As the other commanding officers left the tent, Colonel Larkine turned to face his political officer.

"Please tell me you have reliable Commissars in place to take charge if these two disgraces fall apart."

Who was targeted by this derogatory comment didn't to be explained. Several times already the deficiencies of the PDF had been discussed both in public and private places.

"I have." Growled Zuhev. "But they can't be everywhere and the average quality of the PDF is incredibly poor. Don't let the orks close with them, they lack the training for a melee with the greenskins."

If they won this battle, the Administratum and the authorities ruling the Nyx Sector were going to have much to say about the officer recruiting practises of Fay. Weirdly, Larkine did not think the opinion was going to be positive.

 _One battle at a time, Daviev. First we kill the orks. Politics can wait for tomorrow_.

"Fine." Told the Commissar with an expression which expressed outwardly everything was definitely not 'fine'. "Where is our secret weapon?"

"Gathering her swarm."

* * *

 **Taylor Hebert**

"Enemy closing in." Blared a metallic voice out of the tank's radio. "Estimated time before engagement: three minutes, seven seconds."

Taylor winced a bit at the sound of this voice. Not because her ears couldn't take it in the confines of the vehicle she was currently sitting in, but because the same thing had been repeated all over the camp outside it. And all this sound had generated enough vibrations the insects under her control had the human equivalent of a headache. And there were hundreds of thousands of them.

Well it was kind of her fault, really. To accomplish her part of the plan, one of her demands to be granted the maximum of bugs the 'Imperium' could concentrate in a single place. And these strange red-robed half-Terminator people had delivered. Somewhere in the middle, Weaver had been lost in their explanations on biochemistry – the rest of the audience had shown signs of confusion well before that - but the foundations of their efforts relied on the use of insect pheromones, adulterated syrup and other odorant substances.

When she had asked the Colonel how the soldiers of this 'Mechanicus' could have found pheromones and syrup in such a short amount of time, the cryptic answer had been how certain people were more eager than others to battle against the monsters inhabiting a place named the Adeptus Administratum.

It clearly was a strange new world and a new strange galaxy. According to the men and women Taylor had had the time to discuss, humanity had gone to the stars and expanded by the trillions. The 'Imperium of Man' was a galactic-wide realm dispersed across the Milky Way. Now humanity had starships...but war continued. Similar and yet different all the same. Before the opponents had been heroes, villains, parahumans in general, agents of the PRT equipped with tinker-tech and of course Endbringers. Now it was green monsters which could really benefit from an appointment with a dentist, a doctor and a shower. It said something about Earth Beta in Taylor's opinion that so far she had preferred fighting the 'orks' rather than starting a new battle against Behemoth or Leviathan.

Weaver wasn't sure what to think about their government. A God-Emperor, a Governor, several feudal-like organisations...the structure of this Empire had more common points with the methods the Undersiders had used to rule Brockton Bay than the United States legislation. Still, debates on democracy and dictatorship could wait until the end of the battle.

"Are you okay in there?" Asked Lieutenant Victor Tovar, who was seated on his left, temporarily stopping his speech in his futurist radio. He was one of the two men sitting with her in the tank, but the pilot on the front was the silent type: he had not said a word since she had embarked, though Taylor had noticed his fingers had never let the small two-headed golden eagle fall from his fingers.

The former warlord known as Skitter had been largely hesitant to hide in the tank. Sure, it was Colonel Larkine's polite 'suggestion' – which had turned more and more into an order as she had tried to pose arguments against it - the action had not been presented as hiding, but that was what it was. A high number of the soldiers outside had only the 'flak armour', combat boots and a helmet to protect themselves. Like the PRT troopers against high-level Brute parahumans, their casualties weren't going to be light. By comparison Taylor had her own spider-silk clothes under the flak armour and the rest of the soldiers' equipment, plus of course her own powers.

As Skitter, she has survived Leviathan with far less support all these men had. Okay, Taylor had ended at the hospital at the end but against an Endbringer survival was half a victory. The teenager of Brockton Bay was ready to bet most of the young adults charging their guns had no large-scaled battles under their belts. Their hands were shaking too much for this to be the case.

On the other hand, it was flattering the regiment commanding officer was considering her a very valuable soldier in their efforts against their alien enemies. It was a nice change from the PRT, an organisation which had definitely not considered her irreplaceable.

"It's a bit too small to my taste." Replied honestly Taylor. "I had bad experiences in dark and enclosed spaces."

Without explaining things like trigger events and how parahumans gained power, this was the best way she could put up her reluctance to enter such a place where it was difficult to escape in an interval of seconds.

"Sorry about that." The Lieutenant had a sympathetic face, having undoubtedly the experience of someone having vomited inside the vehicle when passengers were transport-ill. "Military vehicles like the Chimeras are infamous for being cramped and uncomfortable."

That the daughter of Danny Hebert could very well believe. The Chimera had only three passengers at this moment due to its function as a command vehicle, but it was already difficult to move without putting an arm or a leg somewhere it was not wanted.

"So all your tanks are like that?" It was more an attempt to distract everyone from the imminent battle, but it worked.

"Tanks?" The black-haired young man appeared to not realise the meaning of her sentence for an instant before his visage cleared in understanding. "Oh, no the Chimera is not a tank. It's just an armoured transport."

In spite of her best efforts, Taylor felt her mouth open in surprise. Instantly she closed it, but for a few seconds the villain-turned heroine knew she had looked like a gaping fish. The armoured vehicle she was currently sitting in was not a tank? The thing had one huge cannon pivoting with the turret, one other on the front, and three smaller ones on the sides!

"An armoured transport?"

"Yes, I'm afraid." Tovar's smirk was evidence enough her astonishment had been remarked, but unlike Tattletale he was not the type of person to capitalise on it. "The turret-mounted is impressive, but don't let it fool you. It's a multi-laser, effective against enemy infantry or lightly armed vehicles like a Taurox. We can't easily destroy the orks tanks with it. Their big guns would reduce us into cinders well before we shattered their armour."

"The armour looks thick." Was the parahuman's remark. At once, both the silent pilot and his officer nodded.

"It is, but not as thick as the armour on the Leman Russ tank. There are 100mm of plasteel on the front, it's enough to protect from lasguns, lascarbines and the likes according to the cogboys. But the meltagun and the other heavy weapons can tear us apart. We can't take the punishment one of the super-heavy Baneblades take every morning and..."

The Fay soldier had never the chance to finish his description of the merits and the drawbacks of the Chimera 'armoured transport'. The small holographic device which was worthy of Star Wars movie biped and then unleashed a succession of alarms and thrills. Then a lot of icons being characterised by ugly green skulls manifested themselves. A lot of icons were filling the edge of the pass, with the human army's own lights largely outnumbered by this threat. Taylor tried not to wince, knowing it would not put at ease the soldiers sharing the armoured transport with her, but the magnitude of the threat was something of a nightmare. How could aliens so stupid manage to muster in such large armies?

The insects mastered by her power had too little range to perceive the details of her opponents, but she could see the reaction of the Imperium troops waiting for the assault in their trenches. Whispers and murmurs of apprehension spread, though quite a few preachers and the 'Commissars' - wasn't it one of the Soviet Union political units by the way? – made a good show of exalting the ranks into a frenzy and outright fanaticism.

"They are so many..."

"Let them come. Soon they will be deader than Horus!"

"Oh mighty God-Emperor, hear my prayer..."

"The Emperor is our shield! As he sits on the Golden Throne and protects all Mankind we fight in His Name!"

"The Emperor protects! For four thousand years he has sat upon the Golden throne, and the Master of Mankind will endure six thousand more!"

And then a horrifying war imprecation came, full of anger, bloodlust and murder, the same one Taylor had heard when she first arrived into this world.

"WWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!"

Hundreds of men and women in the trenches and atop their vehicles shivered, frightened by the sheer power contained by the unbearable shout. Not for long however. Mere seconds later, by her insects eyes Weaver saw dozens of officers screaming their own challenges to the monsters.

"How many times human ears have heard that roar, I wonder?" Whispered Weaver, half-rhetorically. The low tone wasn't really necessary, because the pilot was muttering prayers in his beard with closed eyes, almost unconscious to everything around him.

"More than be counted by a million scribes." Viktor Tovar had grown a bit pale as the size of the enemy mass grew beyond the size of 'enormous' on his display. "There are legends and rumours the orks were the first species Mankind met when the first colonists left Holy Terra millennia ago."

Taylor narrowed her eyes. If that was true, then the first contact - or 'First Contact' since this was such a momentous event - with an unknown species must have gone down in flames. These 'orks' didn't sound like the kind of beings interested by the statement 'we come in peace'.

As fascinating as this session of history was alas, there was no time to pursue it. While Taylor could freely manipulate thousands of bugs per second and speak to the person next to her, the Lieutenant was rapidly relaying orders and commands from the rest of the regiment everywhere.

The good point now that the orks were in the pass was that even the weak vision allowed to these 'flea-vampires' and 'super-hornets' she controlled was largely sufficient to see the green mass rushing for the battle. To say there was no organisation was a big understatement. Tanks and armoured transports were racing along with bikes and foot soldiers, many of them looking like they had been stolen from the Imperium and then restored by a lazy alien unwilling to look for the plans of the machines.

There was a disparity though. Namely the two big silhouettes running at the edge of her bugs' vision.

"The orks are running after someone."

Lieutenant Tovar spoke quickly in his radio, listened to his commanding officer before replying in a hurry.

"The Colonel and the Commissar don't think it's an ally. All allied units we have in the theatre are here and Fay hasn't levied any force with these symbols and colours." The black-haired officer shook his head negatively. "Whoever these things are, they are not ours."

"Should I deal with them?"

The demand was repeated by Tovar a second time to whoever was in communication on the other side with Colonel Larkine.

"No. The Colonel says to stick to the plan. We will let the orks deal with them."

This was more cold-blooded than Taylor liked, but in the next seconds the thousands of eyes at her disposition allowed her to see there was nothing she could do. Despite their impressive speed, the two blue and gold armoured figures were unable to reach the defenders before the orks did and they were at the limit of her power's range. Plus intervening would ruin the many surprises that had been prepared.

An alien completely worthy of competing for the title of 'craziest driver of the galaxy' slammed his sort of hovercraft-bike in the first colossus, interrupting the escape. Quite surprisingly, it wasn't enough to kill him despite the destroyed engine weighting several hundred kilos. In a completely impossible move, the figure stood up and launched the carcass of the ork space bike into its followers before drawing a sword half of Taylor's height and using it to slice the bodies of two green aliens. And the other five which came behind. It was worthy of a superhero, but it didn't last. Pushing roars and a torrent of alien curses, hundreds of green things swarmed the blue armoured figures. Literally. A pile of orks was growing on the battlefield in their willingness to beat one enemy.

 _These aliens are completely crazy_.

By the look of things, the soldiers in the first trenches had had a good moment with the orks ignoring them. The orks had tried to pass the first obstacles alone and without their biggest machines, allowing the Fay men to shoot them in a storm of laser.

But the initial moment of lethargy from the green aliens didn't last. Roars and bestial exclamations resonated, and the monsters came by the thousands, straight towards the red flag on the abandoned vehicle. None wondered why this wreck had been left outside the fortifications. There was not a single individual to put some sense or shout some counter-order, no moderation or sense of preservation.

And for those involved there never were. Ten 'flea-vampires' put a combination on a hidden panel just as over five hundred or so of the orks reached the flag. One hundred and twenty landmines exploded, disintegrating the advance guard of the aliens into a rain of blood. On the slopes, the men of the Colonel nicknamed the Demolisher were firing their laser weapons at the maximum rate possible. From what Taylor was able to see, each individual weapon was causing 'only' severe wounds to the ork warriors, but there were hundreds of them firing in the same direction. Even with the worst accuracy and will, it was really difficult to miss. Hundreds of screaming creatures went down, a green carpet finally silent in death.

More of their 'friends' came behind. Directly on the second mass concentration of landmines. This one the Tech-Priest hadn't required Weaver's help to place – apparently his supply of correct remote-controlled detonators was adequate only for half of the mines' numbers – and in a cascade of explosions the orks legs were consumed in a storm of fire, splinters and what looked like plasma emissions.

The batteries of human and ork artillery at the same time started a symphony of destruction against each other. Despite being in a transport relatively far from where the shells landed, Taylor was almost deafened by the noise of the bombardment.

From this inferno came the tides of orks. Not a single individual of the green aliens was unharmed, but being half-roasted did not seem to matter. With courage and a lack of wits which had made Japanese of World War Two quite famous until leviathan sunk Kyushu, an uncoordinated charge commenced. Hundreds were stopped by the 'razorwire', and gunned down by the lasers and the cannons of the Guard. Hundreds were shattered by the last rampart of landmines. Turrets buried at the level of the ground and the equivalent of machine guns opened fire when the orks were close enough to be smelled.

Taylor could honestly tell she had never seen anything like this. Sure Leviathan had crushed half of Brockton Bay singlehandedly and Behemoth had annihilated New Delhi but each time there had been little time or chance to see the casualties the Endbringers had caused. Saving the living had been far more important.

But at no moment on Earth Beta an enemy had shown a willingness to march on the corpses of his own subordinates, risk annihilation and tens of thousands individuals just to arrive at close-quarters. The ground before the Fay regiments was littered with ork corpses, with dozens joining them by the seconds. Small unit of fire-throwers burnt the closest aliens near the fortifications, giving this part of the battlefield an apocalyptic atmosphere.

And then a flash of green lightning blasted half of the first outer wall like a gigantic fist.

"What was that?"

"That was an ork psyker. Kill it. Kill it now!"

Fortunately the culprit was easy to notice. The 'psyker' ork had a large sceptre, a sort of metallic device atop its head and had the looks of a deranged mad cultist coupled with the visage of someone having abused mind-shattering drugs. Oh, and it was surrounding by a corona of green lightning and flames. If the situation had not been so dramatic, it could have been almost funny...but the ten orks surrounding the weird green being were suddenly immolated when the ork screamed a new unintelligible imprecation to form a shield against a new volley of laser...

Weaver's sent a small part of the closest available 'super-hornets' swarm hidden below the ground towards this new target...and was suddenly seized by a feeling of untold wrongness. Rushed out of nowhere, a feeling in her urged her to exterminate the 'psyker'. To make him suffer and ensure it was never a threat again. The bugs and insects attacked the device on the top of the ork's head...and everything exploded in a pyre of green energy, erasing orks by the hundreds from the reality. Mere seconds later, the effects of hate and disgust faded.

 _What was that? This was no parahuman power..._

"That was too close." Breathed in relief the young man next to Taylor, before adding under his breath: "Damn these abominations..."

A new radio message interrupted what promised to a long series of curses and insults against the green aliens.

"Colonel Zubrov is going to launch the counter-attack. Colonel Larkine asks you to eliminate the orks leaders which have entered your range."

Releasing a tenth of her first bug reserves, Taylor proceeded to do exactly that. Not that it was difficult to point the leaders in this crowd: apparently the orks were listening to those bigger and noisier than them.

Three of them had already been neutralised when the defenders first line and the minefields were subjected to a torrent of shells and diverse creatures. Half of her bugs were wiped out in two seconds...and so were the orks in the vicinity. The earth walls and the humans resisting behind fared better but they still took a lot of casualties. Weaver was able to see dozens of soldiers being sent to the rear on stretchers, with more lying on the ground forever. One look at the holographic display was enough to realise what had happened. The valley was sinking under the weight of the orks, a green wave covering the ground in such a density that nothing under this could be seen.

For once, the driver of the Chimera did not stay silent. But Taylor thought he could have avoided his laconic remark.

"Here come the tanks and the big ones."


	6. Arrival 1-5 Stand and Kill

**Arrival 1.5**

 **Stand and Kill**

" _To each of us falls a task. And all the God-Emperor requires of us guardsmen is we stand the line and die fighting. And that's we do best. We die standing_." General Sturnn, 963M41. Commanding the Cadian 412th Shock Troopers and the Fay 6th Regiment, Sturnn and his men recovered successfully the Imperator Battle Titan _Dominatus_ against an opposition including Necrons, Chaos Astartes and Orks. For his exceptional leadership and the recovery of a priceless God-machine, General Sturnn would be awarded the Star of Mars in 967M41.

 _The Second Battle of Ramev Pass saw twenty-three Order of Fay 1_ _st_ _class being awarded to the Guard and PDF regiments which stood against the orks. For twenty-one of the recipients, these decorations were awarded posthumously._

By Retired General Tereyev, _The Ocean of War_ , 510M35.

" _By the standards of the last decade, the casualties the regiment suffered in the Battle of Fay were three-tenths percent above average_." Tech-Priest Morkys to Taylor Hebert, 300M35.

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Moros Sub-Sector**

 **Fay System**

 **Planet Fay III**

 **7.178.289M35**

Thought for the day: Victory needs no explanation. Defeat allows none.

 **Ovael the Maleficent**

Fifty-two years ago on the insignificant world of Kerner Quartus, Ovael had believed his honour had been trampled beyond redemption. On this day, a massive army of greenskins had gone on a rampage and he had been literally crushed by the green menace. Left for dead by the warlike xenos, his salvation had only come from a last-minute rescue effort by his Brother-Apothecary of the 5th Company.

This had been in the past. Ovael was still serving the Corpse-Emperor during this campaign. He had not yet understood how little the Imperium and its Inquisitorial pet monsters cared about the noble duty of the Adeptus Astartes. He had not broken the shackles tying him and his brothers to a miserable existence.

Oh by the dirty carcass of the Imperium how he had been wrong. The Traitor Astartes knew now there was a fate more humiliating than being beaten to death by metal clubs at the hands of the ork vermin. Being buried alive under hundreds of stinking orks was not something which would have come to his mind...proof that the denizens of the Great Ocean had definitely a sense of humour if nothing else.

If the former Blood Raven had been a normal man, he would have long suffocated due to the pressure...assuming of course the sheer weight of the pile of orks on top of him wouldn't have reduced him to paste. For the best and for the worse however, Ovael was an Astartes. Where pathetic mortals would have long been pulverised and ripped apart, he was still fighting with all his capabilities. Such as they were when he was blocked under a growling mountain of his loathsome and honourless enemies.

His demonic chainsword was still in his right hand, but he was unable to pierce anything. Or to be more precise he was unable to pierce more. The blade had shredded the head of a first greenskin, torn apart the guts of two others and reached several organs of at least a dozen of orks. Everything had limits unfortunately, and Empyrean-contaminated weapons were no exception despite their refusal to conform to the laws of reality. The chainsword had risen through three ork corpses and was unable to continue the slaughter. The bolter in his left armoured fist was even less useful. Not only the weapon had badly resisted the impact of a very large ork specimen, the rounds in the loader were long gone and whatever ammunition he had carried with him was impossible to reach. In one word, he was disarmed. And the orks were biting and kicking his power armour. It was only a matter of time before the critical alarms ringing in his helmet signalled the end of the line for him.

"TZEENTCH! GREAT ARCHITECT OF FATE! HELP YOUR SERVANT!"

This was what the Astartes intended to scream in his rage. What came out of his mouth with an ork drooling over his helmet was more something like 'HMMMFFF!' followed by an 'ARGGGHHH!'. Trying to gain a few seconds, the Astartes kicked the bodies of the nearest greenskins with a full blow of his helmet. Numerous yellow teeth broke, but it didn't repulse the loathsome xenos for more than an instant. Where a human would have understood to widen the distance, the orks were excited by this violence and rushed into the pile to kill him.

Once more time, Ovael gave a command to the Rubric Marine. One more time, the Chaos-cursed Astartes of the Thousands Sons Legion failed to blast the orks into oblivion. Given that the antic blue power armour was sealed and far more hermetic than his own, the conclusion was evident that his last ally and servant had lost his main weapons in the furious melee. And if the silent Rubric Marine was in the same situation as him, immobilised by the crushing weight of hundreds of xenos, there was not a chance in the Warp to recover them. Not that he could see either the Rubric Marine or the weapons in questions. There were far too many orks upon him to see anything.

Ovael felt his teeth grinding in pure hatred. His last warship destroyed. His warband of cultists and mutants annihilated and devoured by the orks. His Astartes brothers were long gone, having fallen or deserted when their quest for more power and repair parts took an ill turn.

 _You have a last weapon. Use it_.

The thought which had come in his head was definitely not his own. The former Blood Raven took a moment to think about the meaning of this sentence. When he understood, he was so shocked he tried to nod negatively...but since the orks were severely restricting his movements his helmet did not move very far. Mentally he replied to the entity which had contacted him.

 _No. Absolutely not_.

 _Why not? Do you think someone is going to rescue you_?

Put it that way, the sarcastic voice had a point. He had been too slow to reach the relative safety of the Imperium lines and by the way the orks were trying to murder him it was clear the servants of the Corpse had other problems than freeing him.

 _Do it_.

Ovael hesitated during five seconds, a feat which was rare for him. Finally he gave the psychic answer to his mysterious invisible interlocutor.

 _No_.

 _So be it_.

The voice should have trembled with rage, but instead was filled with malice and amusement.

 _You had the opportunity to become a God, now you will be only a toy in the tide of the Great Ocean_.

 _What_?

To the Traitor Blood Raven's astonishment, his mouth started to sing a guttural threnody. Ovael tried to close his mouth and stop the incantation, but the muscles of his body, his tongue, his mouth and the rest of his genetic-enhanced mass were not answering. It was like he was prisoner in his own body...and this was a feeling that was absolutely unbearable. The Traitor Astartes had never once seriously considered possession as a valuable method to gain power...but it appeared the demon was not going to give him the choice.

 _Indeed not_.

"Ta'akar mer'dreek va'ssir ti'lnaness fal'yr!"

Each word hurt. None of them had been supposed to be pronounced in this dimension by a human mouth. A wave of psychic pressure washed away from him, burning the multitude of orks over him in an inferno of blue flames.

 _Stop_! Screamed internally Ovael, feeling his organs tend and distort under the incredible pressure. _Stop that_!

 _Why_?

The single word left him for a moment bewildered before the anger rose back and new vigour flowed in his augmented veins. The hate might have to do something with it. But as he still tried to stand, his left leg exploded in a column of blue flames.

 _Because I want to live_!

The inferno raced to the pile of orks engulfing the Rubric Marine of the Thousands Sons, carbonising everything in its path.

 _And live you will...in a fashion_.

The world was now burning. His arms were burning. His faithful bolter was now a charred mass of metal, his chainsword was broken in two and the pain was horrible...only a heavy release of stimulants in his bloodstream prevented him from screaming everything he had in his heart. Well this and the fact his body wasn't answering to him anymore.

The screams of agony of the orks grew louder. Ovael's vision grew troubled. Everything in front of him was convulsing in the demented energies of the Warp. The Rubric Marine had seemingly regained its standing but was now disintegrating in blue sparks and demonic dust. The pain was so intense it was like an old friend. A terrible sensation was growing inside his ceramite-protected chest.

The cataclysm of blue flames he had unwittingly started was his last vision.

* * *

 **Brukk Brukk the Mekboy**

The combination of blue lightning and flames which exploded at the centre of the battlefield was sonorous and impressive. Hundreds of orks were reduced to bloody fragments and thrown over the entire valley, creating a rain of green blood. Multiple missiles and ammunition exploded in succession when touched by the blue sparks. The weirdboyz screamed endlessly, holding their heads in their hands before blasting apart under their own powers.

"Dat iz nub gud." Said Brukk Brukk. "Dis iz nub gud at awl!"

The five mekboyz around him who were trying to repair a former Imperial tank nodded gravely. This battle was nothing like the big and easy victory like the Warboss had promised. The boyz of the first lines were all dead. The human big machines they used were breaking apart faster than they could repair them, making the big nobz very angry with them. The chief mekboy wanted more teeth but scavenging the corpses of the dead was too dangerous with weirdboyz hurling green lightning everywhere and the bikes rushing towards the frontlines.

"If weeb stay 'ere weez goin' ter die!" Barked Vuk Mukk, the smallest mekboyz in their group, agitating widely his short arms with a tool looking like the hybrid of a cog and a flamer.

"If weeb donz repair 'is tank da boss iz goin' ter kills us!" Interrupted Durk Voborz, injecting litres of a black fluid in the severely leaking vehicle's reservoir with his makeshift pump.

It was at this moment of the battle that a malfunctioning shell of their own artillery chose to land near their vehicle. Given that there were containers of promethium and its derivatives leaking everywhere, the tank and everything near it were soon in flames.

"Time ter go!" Shouted Brukk Brukk, running like Gork and Mork were on his heels. They had to avoid the debris of their thoroughly destroyed tank falling on their heads and it was becoming a bit too hot here. Durk Vobroz regarded them running like if they were idiots, before being immolated alive by the flames.

"It iz goin' ter be 'hard ter repair da tank." Affirmed Vuk Mukk sadly.

"S'urrup an scurry." Replied his larger mekboy counterpart.

"WWWWAAAAAGGGHHHH!"

The roar was so powerful everyone in the army went silent. Warboss Ta'aagh the Mad Brute had climbed to the top of his red-painted Battlewagon and was heaving a colossal Big Shoota over his head.

"Da furst who triss ter leggit will be mi grubbup!"

The four little mekboyz hid immediately behind a half-finished attack bike. They had been walking in the opposite direction of the battlefield...and for orks this was the very definition of 'leggit'. The species which had a brain able to count to a hundred without pausing – and that list did not include the orks – called it 'tactical withdrawal' or 'retreat'.

"Everyone dakka! Kills da uumies! Fasta! 'Arder! Dis iz da baddle o' our livz!"

"WWWAAAAAAGGGHHHH!" Screamed the horde. Like a single ork, hundreds of tanks, bikes and other vehicles put their motors to the maximum setting and slammed on the battlefield. At the other edge of the battlefield, the young mekboy noticed that the humans were doing the same thing.

"Time ter go." Concluded Brukk Brukk.

* * *

 **Second Lieutenant Ordev**

"Where is the bloody Navy when you need them?" Grumbled someone on the bridge of the _Gracious Overlord_.

Gor Ordev did not turn his head from the three screens he was studying. For one thing, he was far too busy to tape the combination of algorithms, digital codes and commands necessary for the bridge to function normally, especially as a lot of his section was covered in dried blood. Far more importantly however, the last days had told him that unnecessary comments and critics on the command centre of the Gracious Overlord could have terrible and permanent consequences. Granted Tech-Priest Val-Hal and First Lieutenant Adryks had not manifested until now the psychopathic behaviour of the recently deceased Admiral Mikasev, but it was better not to take the risk in Ordev's opinion.

Not that he fundamentally disagreed with the remark of the crewman having just uttered these words. Of all the reinforcements they could receive, why it had to be the Mechanicus to answer? Given the recent behaviour of the Exalted Guards towards the cogboys and anything owned by the representatives of the Mechanicus, it was very unlikely the Priest of Mars in charge would be calm and collected when the reports of the last days came.

"Do we have any information on this ship?" Asked Adryks, since it was him who was now the acting-captain.

An affirmative answer soon came back from the crewman searching the data-bases of the corvette.

"Yes, Sir. This is a Seeker of Knowledge-class, an ancient class of Mechanicus cruiser built for the Explorer fleets. According to its identification codes, it's the _Magos Laurentis_ of Magos Explorator Desmerius Lankovar."

Which meant the new warship having appeared like by miracle at the closest Lagrange point could literally crush them and the entire system if his owner felt like it. The Gauntlet-class corvette serving as the flagship of the Fay System Defence Fleet was weighting over five million tons; this cruiser displaced at least five times this mass. A fight between them could only have one outcome.

"The identification codes are correct; the _Magos Laurentis_ is in our data-bases too. Built in the shipyards of Stygies VIII and commissioned in 802M32." Rasped Tech-Priest Val-Hal in his usual emotionless tone, continuing his work to restore the wrecked hololith while half a dozen servitors did their best to remove all traces of the past violence. "His ship visited several worlds of the Sub-Sector eight standard years ago."

"Any idea what the Magos Explorator is up to?"

This was the most important question, indeed. A normal warp translation was done at the very edge of a stable system, using the Mandeville points which were the closest distance a ship could safely exit the Empyrean without disintegrating or unleashing a cosmic catastrophe. The Magos Explorator had evidently disdained this approach, which would have put his arrival days before the outcome of the battle was decided. Usually, the navy officers reckless to order such a manoeuvre faced at the very minimum an inquiry court. One wrong calculation and millions of tons of starship could be vaporised in an infinitesimal fraction of second. That the Mechanicus commander had precisely used this risky method was either proof of his arrogance or a complete faith in his own navigational capabilities. One did not exclude the other, naturally.

"Our brethren engaged on the Quest of Knowledge are by their very nature more difficult to predict than the norm." If this had been a person of flesh declaring this, everyone aboard the Gracious Overlord would have treated it as a joke. Yet there was no humour in the words coming out of the cogboy re-breathers. "Analysis based on past cycles suggests he is going to intervene in the battle below."

"If this is really the case, he will have to launch an assault from orbit." Affirmed the Warrant Officer left in charge of the auspexes. Several looks from the officers and their subordinates were directed at the green-blue planet growing in view as each second passed. "Our troops and the orks are too close from each other to use orbital bombardment."

"Then let's pray the Emperor they arrive in time."

* * *

 **Colonel Klux Zubrov**

The signal in his comm-bead was almost totally muffled when one considered the ruckus of the motors, the artillery, the lasguns and the greenskins' roars. Nevertheless, Klux had good ears and it was not the first time he had to communicate with a distant superior or subordinate when a cacophony played out in the background.

"The 8th can launch its attack, Colonel." Judging by the way he was screaming, Colonel Larkine had the same problems of audition he faced when it came to deliver his orders. "Concentrate your Chimeras on the left, the enemy has detonated all our mines there."

"Acknowledged. We're charging in their teeth. Zubrov, out."

The current comm-sequence was switched out and a new one was initiated. Given the noise, this was not the time to be subtle.

"This is Zubrov. ATTACK! ATTACK! ATTACK!"

The motors of his command Chimera roared in fury behind his seat. The multi-laser of the turret began to fire in powerful bursts, wiping out on his auspexes quantities of greenskins. Moments later the heavy bolter serving as secondary weapon followed suit.

"Be careful with the rounds!" The man nicknamed the Demolisher barked. "Target their tanks and the heavy weapons first!"

Not that it was going to make a lot of difference. They were all going to die. Larkine and his new protégée may have formulated their strategy with a nice choice of words but Zubrov was not completely stupid. Twenty Chimeras and a thousand men of the Guard were a force powerful to take back a lightly-defended rebel city, bash the skulls of a few dissenters and put the fear of the Emperor in the hearts of the pre-spatial civilisations. Against the ork horde charging into the valley, they could not win. They simply had not enough ammunition to kill the green vermin plaguing this valley and Chimeras were not Leman Russ Tanks.

No, Zubrov and the 8th were the bait. The 11th and the 20th were the anvil which would finish whatever remained of the xenos.

 _But before this, we are going to take a few greenskins with us. The Emperor will smile on us for ridding the galaxy of this green epidemic_.

The ten Chimeras surged forwards, crushing the greenskins corpses by the hundreds. The gurgles of agony and the war screams were everywhere. The Colonel was trying to direct the fire of his gunners by vox as best as he could but most weren't listening to him anymore.

It was the heart of the battle. It was why he had volunteered for this charge.

Well that and my cousins' stupid coup at Great Landing. With the black marks on my record after Petersburg, I'd be lucky to receive a penal legion's assignment.

Zubrov did not let any sign of this show on his visage. The men he had been assigned were in their great majority young scions of well-connected nobles, freshly recruited and with no combat experience worth mentioning. They didn't realise how precarious their position was and their commanding officer had no desire to explain to them. They needed to keep this

Two ork tanks or what passed for it exploded. The debris sprayed everywhere, throwing promethium fumes, scraps and metal all over this part of the battlefield. A mass of infantry tried to counter the Chimeras but the heavy bolters made short work of it.

"FORWARD!" Screamed Zubrov, seeing one vehicle of his command slow down behind the others. "FORWARD!"

Something heavy crashed on the front armour-shielding of his command, forcing everyone from the pilot to the gunner to brace themselves.

"Ork Psyker!" The exclamation of the pilot was a mix of hate and fear. As it should be, the sorcery and the xenos combined in one were a huge affront to the Emperor.

"Kill it!" Was the reply. "Kill it now!"

The multi-laser fired and vaporised the lightning-sparkling greenskin...plus the dozens of orks which were around him.

But while they were killing the infantry, new ork tanks came and those weren't the wrecks of Chimeras and Salamanders anymore. The enemy had had enough of seeing its lightly armoured vehicles be torn apart, and was sending its recycled and defaced Leman Russ Tanks by entire companies. On the auspexes and every monitoring device fitted inside the command Chimera, the Colonel of the Fay 8th was seeing a wave of green and grey. The infantry he had thrown into the melee had disappeared from his sight. Two-thirds of his armoured force was gone. And a monstrous tank-fortress was coming closer, killing their own allies to close the distance and finish them. The orks had sent everything this time...which meant their sacrifice had meaning.

"It begins."

A rain of rockets fell on Zubrov's Chimera. Dozens of the shells and strange missiles had missed, truly the orks' aim was atrocious compared to the worst human gunner ever born, but there was too much ordnance hurled at them. The armour plate protecting them was solid, but it was not invulnerable.

 _I should have given it a name to the Chimera. This fierce machine has saved countless lives today_.

An error he wouldn't have the time to rectify.

"Target the small tanks." Coughed Klux Zubrov. "We haven't the piercing-shells to hurt the big one, we need to enrage it and bring it in range of our artillery."

"Targeting the-"

His gunner did not finish the acknowledging the command. An impact far more terrible than everything which had stricken them until this instant hammered their protection. Looking on the left and upwards, the Fay Colonel saw the entire cupola had been perforated. Rivers of blood and a mangled corpse perforated with steel told him the primary weapon of the Chimera would never fire again.

"Colonel Zubrov?" The voice of the pilot was trembling and his superior could not blame him. The impressive speed of the Chimera had crawled to a halt; in spite of pressing the acceleration commands to their maximum, there were enough orks alive and dead to block completely the path.

"Fight your tank, soldier." The hands of the young man were so white and crisped he felt obliged to ask. "By all the things which are holy please tell me you haven't forgotten your lasgun!" The fact the recipient of this comment felt obliged to tremble uncontrollably after he had said those words gave Zubrov a terrible feeling of dread.

Cursing himself for having not used his reputation to be granted more veterans in his regiment, the disgraced survivor of the Petersburg Campaign opened fire on two orks. The green vermin was trying to enter by the hole where the cupola had stood but Zubrov swore himself they wouldn't. Not while he had a breath of life in his body.

Abandoning his seat and the incomparable position it offered him to see the tide of greenskins, the Colonel took his chainsword and rammed it in the head of the ork trying to follow the two xenos he had just killed. The immediate consequence was an immediate bath of green blood, but it did not stop him from claiming a fourth personal victim seconds later.

This didn't make those climbing all over the Chimera more prudent or less determined to reach him. They weren't stopping firing with their tank guns either, the murderous beasts. Klux shot two enemies at point-blank range with his side arm, but just as he was about to finish the third ork the entire world shattered. Half of the vehicle exploded, the pilot and the other man in the forward section screaming a last time before the storm of shrapnel killed them. Something heavy hit his right leg, letting him stumble against the orks, chainsword first.

"For the Emperor!"

There was only hacking and slashing after that. His laspistol was quickly out of shots, leaving him with only his loyal chainsword to slaughter the xenos. His leg was hurting like hell and more than once he had to lie on the wall before charging again. His vision was troubled. Was it because of his wound or all the green blood he had sprayed everywhere?

No, it was not the moment to ask questions which didn't matter. The orks were coming from another hole on the front now. He had to keep killing the orks. His duty to the Emperor was absolute and he would not falter. Every enemy he killed was one which would not threaten the loyal population of Fay.

A new ork fell in the growing pile of orks inside the Chimera. Soon there would be no place to move, never mind keep fighting. A light ting interrupted his musing.

An ork had just thrown from the cupola's hole an object three times the size of a grenade. Red, with a lot of beeps and so many wires a Tech-Priest would have screamed at the sacrilege of technology it represented. A powerful explosive and one best returned to its maker before it killed everyone.

Zubrov's arm went in motion to do just that when another pain in his side erupted. Turning his head to the right, he saw an ork had taken advantage of a dead angle to plant him their barbaric version of a bayonet in his ribs.

If the Colonel had been able to laugh, he would have burst in laughter. Between saving its green skin and giving him the death strike, the ork had chosen the latter. The red explosive was beeping. As more orks barged in the crippled Chimera, Klux laughed and closed his eyes.

"This was a good ride."

The light when it came was astonishingly bright.

 **Taylor Hebert**

After the carnage Behemoth had wrought on New Delhi, the recently recruited heroine known as Weaver had believed she was ready for everything this new world could throw at her.

In less than a week, a lot of incredible information to digest and a lot of hindsight, maybe her confidence had been misplaced.

A lot.

The orks, since this was the name of the aliens they fought, had not made any progress in intelligence or subtlety. They had come in extraordinary numbers however, and while they appeared to lack parahumans to counter her, their 'psykers' or whatever name they used to shatter the laws of physics were extraordinarily dangerous.

Plus they had absolutely no sense of self-preservation. The infamous kamikazes of World War II were models of sanity compared to these green monsters. The vision of her bugs was far from adequate, but since the battle had begun there had been hundreds of cases were the orks launched grenades and various explosives without taking cover.

In most cases, they had killed ten times more of their own species than the humans fighting them. Truly if these idiots gained a few IQ points, they would be an extreme danger for all creation. Well, more danger than the 'xenos' already were if the comments of the soldiers were any indication.

Because yes, the 'tactics' of the green monsters were something like a three-ear old would be able to understand. Yes, their weapons and their accuracy massively sucked. But when a man or a woman was cut in half or had one of her swarms tear him apart, logic in general assumed the victim was not long for this world. Not so with this green aliens. At first Taylor had wondered why many soldiers were firing to the point of exhaustion into the agonising orks after the first battle. Back to the present she knew why and the answer was really disgusting. Unless touched in their vital points, the abominations continued to fight. The vital points were not necessarily the heart or the head by the way.

"They are coming this time." She informed the Lieutenant next to her. "All of them."

"Good." The smile on the visage of the young man told her he was eager for some pay-back. "How close is their big battlewagon from Point Alpha?"

"Fifty meters?"

Taylor was able to see by the eyes of the hundreds of flies and other insects under her control the gigantic pile of metal crush thousands of orks corpses and hundreds of human bodies. It was a nauseating spectacle, and one she felt was her fault. It had been her idea to attract the entire army of monsters to crush it in one single blow. That Colonel Larkine had told her the men were all volunteers was a very cold comfort when one could see them slaughtered and trampled in real time.

The only thing in her power was ensuring their deaths had not been given in vain.

"Close enough, then." Lieutenant Tovar said before adding seconds later. "And far from our lines."

Weaver did not open her mouth to contest this affirmation but in her opinion, hundreds of meters from these monsters was not exactly a sufficient distance of security. Her parahuman power gave her a complete panoply of senses to observe the orks, with horrible views on the teeth, the claws and the weapons these green beings had with them. The further away she was from these aliens, the better.

New orders came from the radio or whatever system of communication the Guard used in a similar way.

"The Colonel tells you can activate the device when you're ready."

Taylor nodded absently before concentrating on the thousands of insects which had stayed buried under the ground. In the last hours before the battle she had with her minuscule allies buried a considerable quantity of mines and the 'device' in question under the battlefield. The grand majority had been completely untouched and now it was just a question of creating the last tunnels. The explosion had to be directed upwards for the maximum amount of devastation.

"It's ready." Her voice was hard under the concentration it took to create the very maze of explosives under the steel boots of the orks. It also did not help the 'device' bomb was killing her bugs, ants and whatever native insect species she mastered in droves.

"Fire!" Was the command heard in the radio moments later.

For several of her heartbeats nothing happened in the pass. The green mass of the ork army continued to rush towards the lethal traps. More and more tanks came in the vicinity of Point Alpha, symbolised on the ground by a ruined vehicle sprouting the tattered red flag.

And then the entire field erupted like a volcano. The mines exploded in an impressively synchronised wave, tearing apart the tanks, overthrowing them like child toys, rupturing their fuel containers and generating more explosions. It was like the fall of thousands dominoes; the initial explosion was giving birth to dozens of others and so on.

Just as the former supervillain was wondering if it was over, the 'device' exploded. The huge tank with the big alien screaming on top of it had somehow managed to avoid the conflagration, but they were almost at ground zero for the second blast. A column of green and yellow flames roared to the sky, incinerating the tanks and everything in the close vicinity. A storm of metal and debris ravaged the enemy ranks. Inside their trenches, her allies were cowering as best as they could and prayed. Still, the digging they had done protected them from most of the blast. Her insects had not this chance. Despite her precaution in recalling her bugs, thousands were carbonised instantly, darkening the vision she had of the battlefield.

Not that it looked like it was going to be a problem. The orks' mob had completely massacred by the thousands of explosions. With the soldiers' laser weapons and the artillery shooting everything at them now that their trump card had fired, the battle was as good as over. The majority of the monsters' machines were so ruined there were only wrecked metal carcasses remaining. The huge tank where the big ork had screamed his hate was unrecognisable as half of it was spread across the entire valley.

"What the hell was this device?" It took her a moment to realise she had shouted it out loud like a bewildered Winslow student.

"Err...a melta bomb with mixed promethium and Rad material?"

Taylor didn't understand many of the words in this sentence, but had the idea she wouldn't like it if she was able to interpret them. Who had said ignorance was bliss?

Fine, no matter the things which had been used to make this bomb, it had been incredibly effective. There was now a sizeable crater to accompany the multitude of small ones. The horde which had wanted to kill them was now decimated and reeling under the fire of thousands guns. The loss of their leader and their biggest machines had also disheartened them, as more and more were faltering, abandoning their charge for a prudent retreat. Not that it was an easy task under the Guard's bombardment. More and more this land was taking a lunar appearance...was it something like that which had happened during World War I? The orks and the humans here had only been fighting for a few hours...wait a minute why was the sky suddenly full of shooting stars?

From the radio of the armoured transport came a powerful metallic voice, repeated on all transmitters she had insects close from.

"THE QUEST OF KNOWLEDGE NEVER ENDS! HAIL THE OMNISSIAH!"

* * *

 **Seer Maea Teallysis**

Maea Teallysis watched with a certain satisfaction the disgraceful flyers of the Mon-keigh ravage the battlefield with their loud and cumbersome weapons. The Orkead threat was leaderless and reeling from its losses, its strength spent against the crude fortifications.

The warriors who had accompanied her for this journey were smiling too under their helmets. Three dangers to their beloved Craftworld had just been rendered utterly powerless. With a precise interception and a minuscule strike of six, three problems to Malan'tai had just been erased. Already the threads of fate were corrected, avoiding the destructive future which would have meant the end of their home.

The Orkead leader which would have conquered and ravaged three Maiden Worlds had met its end in a gigantic funeral pyre. All the big and powerful subordinates of the beast were dead, its armies would be eradicated to the last. The arrogant Mon-keigh commander who in thirty-one cycles would have unleashed a terrible conflict between the Craftworld and the Mon-keigh Imperium was no more. The agent of the Primordial Annihilator who would have led a host of demons at their gates, crippling their fleet, had lost his damned soul and his eternal-cursed life. Thousands of fierce warriors' deaths had just been avoided, their service continuing for aeons to come.

For her first key step on the Path of the Seer, it was a grand victory and she had no doubt the Council of Farseers at home was going to congratulate her.

Why then was she feeling a sliver of doubt watching columns of red-robed Mon-keigh land in their skull-decorated machines? Her visions had showed her the weaknesses of her three targets and the methods to cause their demises without showing attention on her scout force. Was it really that important that none of them had died in the exact manner she had prophesized?

 _No, it shows I have more to learn on this Path. My skill with the Seer Runes needs hundreds more cycles to be perfected; this is why I have not seen the precise outcome of the battle._

This was the simplest explanation and yet something was missing. Like an echo in the spirit stones acknowledging the time of peril had passed or a Rune showing a constellation of light. The Mon-keigh had won too easily. The Orkead horde had fallen in every trap their enemies had created.

 _You imagine tangled threads where they aren't_.

Infusing three spirit stones with the powers of the Ocean, she channelled it thorough the wraithbone-crafted Seer Runes. The results were kind of disappointing...for the Mon-keigh. In less than a dozen of cycles, they would all be dead. Whether by their own stupidity, arrogance, the stubbornness of their species to fight when there was no victory possible...the warriors who had fought against the Orkead warboss were all going to die.

There are truly as short-sighted as Farseer Vanis said. How this band of primitive apes managed to conquer so many words was mind-shattering.

"Our task here is done. Let the Mon-keigh rejoice before their unavoidable destruction. We are going home."

Seconds later they were all sprinting towards the hidden Nightshade starship which had brought them here, never to return on the place the conflagration of fates had been decided.


	7. Arrival 1-6 To the Stars

**Arrival 1.6**

 **To the Stars**

 _The battles fought in the Fay System were of course close to insignificant in numbers by the Imperium standards. If events had stopped at this point, undoubtedly the eyes of strategists and other war students would have never been attracted to such unremarkable and distant planets._

 _But the challenges had only just started for the Nyx Sector. The Fay 20_ _th_ _Regiment had not yet earned their well-deserved reputation as 'Weaver's Own', but the first steps on this path had been walked..._

Retired Lord Militant Tor, _Victory at all cost_ , 630M36.

 _In my long and glorious career, I have long concluded it is best to stay far away from the Fay regiments when they launch their attack. These men are so convinced Lady Weaver is watching over them they're ready to kill Gargants with their bare hands to prove their devotion._

 _It wouldn't be so bad if they were not expecting me to lead by example...surely blowing up one of those cursed behemoths was enough? On the good side, they provided me so much tanna afterwards I did not manage to drink all the stock until my retirement..._

Ciaphas Cain, _To Serve the Emperor: A Commissar's Life_ , 106M42.

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Moros Sub-Sector**

 **Fay System**

 **Planet Fay III**

 **7.197.289M35**

Thought for the day: Serve the Emperor today, tomorrow you may be dead.

 **Tech-Priest Enginseer Morkys**

Accepting the invitation was something he had passed many cycles of his cogitators' implants thinking on.

Magos Explorators were by their very nature regarded with fifty per-cent of admiration and fifty per-cent of disdain by the rest of the Omnissiah's Chosen. It was undeniable the adventurers of the Mechanicus had recovered lost archeotech, charted uncategorised spatial phenomena, recovered incalculable volumes of data and made contact new forms of life for the last millennia. But these successes were not without reverses. All his teachers and superiors had insisted on the facts: for each Priest of the Omnissiah going into the unknown and coming back with valuable knowledge, one hundred disappeared or had to be terminated for their own good.

The explorers of the Mechanicus gained strange ideas from their travels in the void and used techniques which often came very close to the doctrinal limits put in place by the Mars Accords. Worse, these wayward minds in service of the cog weren't answering to the established chains of command. If a Magos operated alone, and it seemed it was the case for Magos Explorator Desmerius Lankovar, then his superior was certainly one of his Fabricator patrons on Stygies VIII –and such a holy figure had probably other things to do with his time than watch one ship half a galaxy away. Prudence was still required nevertheless. By all reasonable assumption, it should mean there would be no repercussion of his hierarchy if Morkys opposed one of the Magos decisions. Unfortunately, the lack of information on the Mechanicus newcomers in the noosphere data repositories meant he had no idea the extent of Lankovar's influence and contacts. Refusing or bypassing him could result in demotion or his transformation in a servitor. There was simply too little time and zero useful news to have an accurate view of the situation.

Thus Tech-Priest Enginseer Minoris Arcturus Morkys had decided to accompany the curious human known as Taylor 'Weaver' Hebert. The possible rewards from this meeting were significant...but the risks weren't inconsequential too.

"Enginseer Morkys and Taylor Hebert to see Magos Lankovar." Buzzed the senior Mechanicus representative of the Fay 20th Infantry of the Guard. The two Skitarii barring the entrance of the compound modified their handling of their plasma weapons to a non-lethal posture, indicating their arrival had been anticipated.

The outer plasteel door opened with a satisfying speed, proving its machine-spirit had been properly honoured and maintained. Gesturing with one of his mechadendrite to the unaugmented young woman behind him, the Enginseer marched first into the compound. The structure was a classical D-057831-Type DU facility, a storage place no servant of the Omnissiah had any difficulty to navigate. The Magos-Explorator had requisitioned it for its own use immediately after his arrival seven days ago, and no modification had been made to the original plans.

It was then they heard the screams. Piercing and loud, they were impossible to mistake for anything else.

"What is the Magos doing?" Asked Miss Hebert, who judging by her worried tone was now seriously having doubts about the honour of accepting the invitation.

"I don't know." Replied honestly the Tech-Priest. "But we're about to discover it."

When the last door opened diligently, it was with a certain dread in his circuits Morkys placed his optical sensors in full-mode, fervently wishing the rumours he had heard were wrong.

The view they had from the entrance platform, alas, fully justified his fears. In the massive amount of space which had once served to store Guard supplies before they were once sent off-world, a far more bloody work was going on.

Hundreds of Mechanicus and skitarii were studying the orks. And by 'studying', Morkys was implying they were cutting them apart, putting some of the organs in stasis, burning hundreds of members, injecting powerful poisons and electrocuting the greenskins. Below them, the big-master and the Tech-Priest could see a particularly impressive ork specimen being slowly and methodically reduced to a bloody piece of meat.

"Why are they torturing the orks?"

The voice of the heroine who had saved the Fay 20th from annihilation was not fear as he had dreaded. It was more...anger? But as her initial assumption was wrong, he had to correct her.

"They are not torturing them. They are vivisecting them."

"Is that supposed to be better?" The voice of the insect-controller was bitter enough that the Tech-Priest recognised the sentence was something the flesh and blood humans called 'sarcasm'.

"Probably not." Answered the Enginseer. Logically, vivisecting a xenos alive without anaesthetic – not that it would have been useful given the impressive immune system of the greenskins – was torture. Morkys wasn't terribly sorry for these loathsome xenos – the atrocities and desecrations they had committed against the God-Machine were countless – but dissecting them and doing studies like the supporters of Lankovar did was definitely not in conformity with the conservative tenets of the Omnissiah. It also raised the question what other amends and transgressions the Magos-Explorator's crew was ready to make in their Quest for Knowledge. Arcturus Morkys didn't like it at all.

But like it or not, they had a Magos to find. Using an electromagnetic elevator on their right, the servant of the Omnissiah and the parahuman descended in this vivisection warehouse. Reaching ground level, he grudgingly conceded the Tech-Priests and Explorator servants evidently knew how dangerous the orks could be and had put proper procedures in place. Each section was separated from the others by powerful force fields. There were emergency barriers and shields everywhere ready to be activated. Two Inferno cannons were mounted on massive turrets, ready to bathe in promethium any hypothetic sign of xenos insurrection. The beast themselves were deprived of their fangs, arms and legs, and cut again when they re-grew. The floor was ceaselessly decontaminated by hundreds of servitors, preventing any spore from fertilising.

"Taylor Hebert and Enginseer Morkys?" Amid the tumult of screams coming from the fangless ork maws, he almost jumped when the red robe of a senior Mechanicus came behind them. Not Miss Hebert though. For a moment, Morkys felt an unreasonable irritation at the incredible advantage the control of insects and arthropods provided. Provided the controller was coping with the numberless priorities of the present situation, it was extremely difficult to surprise her.

The Stygies VIII Tech-Priest who had called them was female and had a brilliant green bionic replacement instead of her right eye, providing a striking contrast with her pristine flesh. A respirator unit covered her mouth and her arms had long been replaced by metallic augments. At their nod of confirmation, she presented herself without any of the blessings Morkys had spoken before with his superiors.

"I am Questor Alena Wismer, Magos Lankovar's second. Follow me."

To his surprise the female Questor had spoken to them in Low Gothic – not unsurprising due to Miss Hebert's presence – but there had been no cant of binary, no added sign of recognition in the Omnissiah's sacred language. It was troubling...and a bit insulting.

He was only a lowly Enginseer in an Imperial Guard regiment but he had no demerits to his name and none of the other Tech-Priests in the Petersburg Campaign had found any flaws in his work. If the Omnissiah was answering to his prayers, he may even have a promotion before the decade's end. But here came these explorers, court-circuiting the proper chain of command and experimenting their techno-knowledge on the greenskins.

At least there was a relief the Magos Explorator wasn't in the warehouse dissecting the orks with the rest of his crew. For a few cogitator cycles, Arcturus had been turning simulations on the likelihood of Lankovar being a dangerous heretek who had somehow managed to escape the Great Cog's judgement. Which meant the probability of seeing a deranged Tech-Priest dissecting them in the next minutes for the sheer thrill of insanity was significantly reduced. Great.

A new mag-elevator guarded by six Skitarii made them leave the former storage facility. A new corridor and they were introduced the presence of Magos Explorator Desmerius Lankovar.

The first impression the Enginseer born on the Industrial World of Harbin II had of the high-ranking Priest was the thought this couldn't be a Mechanicus member. Lankovar had no mechadendrite, no augment, nothing metallic showing his allegiance to the Cult of the Machine. For the outside world, the senior Mechanicus representative in the room –dozens of servitors and lowly menials were watching the multitude of screens – was a forty-year plus flesh human with a red robe, nothing more.

A nanosecond-long scan of his incorporated augur disproved this assumption. The body of the Magos was in reality built close to ninety-eight per-cent of metals and alloys. Statistically speaking, the 'mortal envelope' was certainly constituted of vat-grown skin cells.

Their arrival had not been unnoticed. Of course the control room they were introduced had hundreds of screens, and Morkys had already found those controlling the servo-skulls and the rest of the warehouse monitoring system. In a move so fast his optical bionics barely recorded it, the Magos was in front of them, a buzzing sceptre decorated with the symbol of the Mechanicus in one hand an unknown device in the other. The two were directly pointed at Miss Taylor Hebert.

"Fascinating, simply fascinating." Declared in binary the Explorator. In the next second, Lankovar was forced to jump inhumanly fast away as a storm of insects appeared where he had been. If he was still made of flesh and bones, Morkys would have sighed. Did his warning not to antagonise the bug-controller had somehow gotten lost in the noosphere?

"And no emissions of detectable psionic energy. Incredible." Said Desmerius Lankovar like if nothing wrong had happened, a move of his sceptre ordering the two Skitarii next to him to lower their weapons.

The high-ranked Tech-Priest turned around and taped a long combination on the terminal in the centre of the room. Many screens stopped showing the orks experiments conducted by the Stygies explorers and instead unfurled streams of data that went in complexity anything Morkys had seen in his service to the Omnissiah. The parahuman to his side made her bugs disappear under the light Imperial cloak she wore, allowing everyone to relax.

All the while the Magos continued to mumble in a combination between Low Gothic and a highly technical binary. "Fascinating...a structure never seen before...DNA pure...fascinating..."

At long last after three minutes and twenty-nine seconds, Lankovar returned his attention back to them.

"Fascinating, absolutely fascinating. M3 blood samples...in other circumstances samples of this blood would be sent to Mars by the fastest ship available. What a majestic discovery...I wouldn't have believed it if I had not seen if of my eyes..."

Arcturus Morkys once more absolutely didn't like what he was hearing.

"Excuse me, Magos-Explorator." He canted, having for the first time the undivided attention of the Magos on him. "But my sensor bionics must deceive me. I believe you don't intend to inform Mars of this huge discovery? The blood samples and the archeotech Miss Hebert have..."

"Would be considered heretical and whoever produced them would be executed in the millisecond by the brainless Cardinals of the Ecclesiarchy." Finished his interlocutor. It was kind of strange to see the metallic components rippling under the flesh now that he knew what to look for. "Segmentum Solar has been a very dangerous place for the last three centuries. Between the Nova-Terrans, the influence of the Synod and our own Moirae problem we could be all murdered by whatever faction is in the ascendant if we came out in the open. I will send the data and the samples to Stygies VIII, they will be safe there. They will transfer everything to Mars as soon as possible."

"It might be not on our lifetime, Magos." The tone of Questor Alena Wismer could have not been more respectful, but there were cants and binary inflexions he wasn't able to decipher. Still, there was some logical implication the crew of the _Magos Laurentis_ would not be able to share the glory and the resources which went with such a discovery.

"The servants of the Omnissiah can afford to be patient." Replied philosophically her superior in Low Gothic. "In the mean time, we have a strategy to consider."

"Could you send me back to my Earth?" Intervened the parahuman girl, turning the attention of hundreds of bionic parts in her direction.

"No, probably not." Said in what could pass for an excuse the Magos Explorator. "Trans-dimensional experiences are in general prohibited and Mars never managed to master this type of technology." A shiver-like move went from his alloys-feet to the head, making Morkys wonder how catastrophic the failures in said field had been. "There are rumours it was possible in the Dark Age of Technology...but only the Emperor knows for sure. Besides, for such an experiment to take place it would be better to go back to your home planet and there's a seven hundred years waiting list for Holy Terra."

The Mechanicus Priest had left unsaid there was no way by the Holy Quest of Knowledge this kind of experience would be authorised by the High Lords of Terra.

"Seven hundred years?"

The M3 young woman sounded really horrified. Not without reason, Morkys had to admit, the Administratum was really getting worse at directing the flux of pilgrimages and the travels to the homeworld of humanity.

"Seven hundred and sixty-two years, four months and eight days to be accurate. Plus of course the Warp-travel to Terra."

Desmerius Lankovar lightened the large hololith, before projecting a large map of the Milky Way galaxy. A bright red light showed the Solar System on the far left of the galaxy, while the Fay System was on the south-east of the Ultima Segmentum thousands of light-years away.

"So far away..." A single tear dropped on Miss Hebert's right cheek. "What I am going to do?"

Morkys didn't know if she had expected an answer to this question but the Magos gave her one.

"You could become the Governor of this world. I'm told the trial of the current Governor, his accomplices and the officers who planned the coup to overthrow him is going to begin tomorrow."

It was a very attractive proposition, the Tech-Priest admitted. A logical one, since the young woman had emerged from the fires of battle as one of the heroes of the day. Fay was not an extremely wealthy Civilised world, but it was not a Feudal backwater either. There were billions of men and women who were ready to kill countless people if it meant receiving in their hands this kind of power.

"No, thank you."

Arcturus Morkys clicked in surprise. Billions of people weren't Taylor Hebert apparently.

"In that case, I would suggest either taking a commission in the Imperial Guard or requesting to join the Mechanicus as soon as possible." Advised Lankovar. "The Deacons of the Ecclesiarchy aren't going to stay idle for long. The current Pontifex Mundi is among the traitors judged next morning, but his superiors will soon send a replacement. You don't want to be without protection when he arrives."

"You have testified I am not 'tainted' or guilty of heresy." Taylor Hebert countered.

"Indeed. But the Mechanicus and the Ecclesiarchy are organisations having very divergent interests in what constitutes heresy, treachery and Warp-contamination. We base our observations on cold logic and science. They made their observations on pure faith. My word would be more a drawback than an advantage. "

The insect-controller stayed quiet for a moment before speaking again with a distant expression.

"Assuming I chose to join the Guard..."

"There would be many advantages for you to enjoy." Ended the Magos. "There are always special land grants for great deeds having protected a world of His Holy Majesty and I'm sure the Nyx Prefectus emissary won't be ungrateful. A few medals and some prize money for the killing of several Ork warbosses will certainly be in order too."

"I don't have any experience leading soldiers."

For the first time of the day, his truth detectors tingled. Not a full lie, but not the complete truth either. Judging by the cants Lankovar and Wismer communicated, the two experienced Explorators had caught it.

"Reports from the Fay 20th officers say otherwise. And you would be surprised how many officers in the Imperium are still promoted despite not having the slightest clue how to command a regiment."

"How do you benefit in this? You're not a Guard General, you can't give orders to Governors or Generals like that!"

For a human which didn't know the Imperium existed last month, it was a smart remark.

"I am a Magos Explorator of the Adeptus Mechanicus, realising my own Quest of Knowledge in the name of the Forge-World Stygies VIII and the Omnissiah."

The inauspicious black eyes did not blink a single time during this sentence. Whatever bionic devices controlling them would not allow them to.

"You will learn there are very few persons I can't command if I want to."

And on this Magos Explorator Desmerius Lankovar made his red robe swirl before switching the screens back to his study of orks being vivisected. For the love of the Omnissiah, Morkys didn't know if it was a threat or if the Magos was that simply fond of xenos studies.

* * *

 **Colonel Daviev Larkine**

The laws of any Sector loyal to His Holy Majesty's Imperium were generally divided into three categories. The first referred to the laws which concerned with the Imperium as a whole. For example, an ambitious General or Lord Militant misappropriating the funds of a Crusade was a violation of said regulations. Murdering a high-ranking member of the Adeptus Terra or stealing the Navy's deployment plans entered it too. It was the _Lex Imperialis_ as it had been intended by the God-Emperor and was written in the millennia-old _Book of Judgement_.

The second category concerned itself with lesser crimes and punishments, usually on a planetary scale. Of course given the immensity of the Imperium and the large autonomy it granted to a Governor and his – or her – administration, the derivations of the law had generally little in common from one planet to another, never mind a sector. While on some worlds looking directly in the eyes of a noble was punishable by a death sentence, other cultures had a fierce ban of everything edible having a yellow colour.

The third one was the Ecclesiarchy law, laid down in uncountable and antique data-scrolls. So uncountable in fact were the treatises that every Sector had its own interpretation of what constituted proper worship of the God-Emperor sitting on the Golden Throne of Holy Terra.

In theory, the divide between the three was simple and the attendant punishments served as guidelines for the entire Sector. In practise, there were crimes and influence struggle in every Sector. An accusation of high treason could very well be prosecuted by the first group of laws while the Priests of the Ministorum would say it fell in their jurisdiction since the accused was obviously a traitor and a heretic.

Today was one of those days where reality had bypassed the _Lex Imperialis_. Among the accused were a Governor, a Pontifex Mundi, several PDF Generals and an important majority of the Fay nobility. Larkine was glad neither he nor anyone of his regiment were among them, because these trials where the three categories were in consideration ended on average in very unpleasant manners for the guilty.

"Guards, let enter the accused." Ordered Judge Vilifeng Otto, the member of the Adeptus Arbites who was going to preside over the entire trials. Wearing imposing red and black attire where the double-eagle flashed prominently, the judge was assisted on the benches by five other Arbitrators of lesser rank and hundreds of scribes.

The large doors of what had been the Ball Room of the Fay Overlord Palace – but which had been requisitioned and transformed these last days to become an audience and trial room – opened in a noise from the grave. A large column of men and women passed came through it, escorted by dozens of enforcers. None of them were manacled or in chains – the Colonel supposed it was a concession to their past aristocratic status – but their once priceless and opulent clothes looked like their owners had spent lengthy nights of prison with them...which when one thought about it was indeed had happened.

Leading the prisoners was Exalted Overlord Boris Byukur, who had once been the Governor of Fay III and the rest of the Fay System. For the men and women in the audience who had never seen their Governor save on a few propaganda hololithic pictures and vid-casts, the appearance of the morbidly obese man advancing was something to behold. The coup of Marov and the other PDF Generals had been launched when the Overlord was wearing a set of pink and gold clothes. It had certainly been an insult to the eyes when it was clean; now it was an horror. The sad excuse for a human being had taken refuge in his 'secret' bunker and waited the reinforcements who would restore him to his throne. Public hygiene and changing his clothes had not been taken into account.

"How the mighty falls..." Giggled Ilvyna Dalten.

Her superior threw her a concerned look. The blonde-haired ex-Major looked radiant today in a purple dress and her hair had been masterfully combed into a golden braid...a fact which had probably something to do with her future ascension to the Fay Governorship –once Byukur was condemned for his crimes of course. It was an unavoidable consequence of the first two candidates having refused the post; neither he nor the heroine who had saved his regiment had wanted to inherit the cutthroat arena of Fay politics.

Daviev did not know if he should be happy or frightened. Seen from a good eye, the Fay 20th wouldn't be refused reinforcements and military supplies like the last times and he had lost a psychopath bitch from his command list. On the other hand, the 2nd Company was going to be tough to handle with Ilvyna's departure. And he really pitied the Fay nobles; they clearly had no idea what sort of nuclear ammunition was going to fall upon their heads.

"Calling him 'mighty' is a bit of exaggeration I think." Chuckles all around him were confirmation enough the non-esteemed Exalted Overlord piteous appearance rejoiced many in the crowd.

Daviev nodded and turned back his attention on the ex-Governor who had managed to crawl his way to a seat in the centre of the hall where he seated himself alone and unsupported. To give honour where no honour was due, the Exalted Overlord was going to be judged first. If the big slug was worried about the outcome of the trial, nothing on his figure, his behaviour and the grease in his belly suggested it. The double-puffed cheeks were elongated in an impressing spectacle of pure arrogance, and the eyes were shining with malevolence, preparing no doubt the executions of those who had dared overthrowing him.

"Governor Boris Byukur." Thundered the voice of the Arbitrator-Judge. "You have been accused of High Incompetence, failure to uphold the law of the God-Emperor, conspiracy and murder of Adeptus Mechanicus personnel, conspiracy to murder Ecclesiarchy personnel, subverting the Church of His Holy Majesty to your own desires, gross mismanagement, perjury in presence of a Mechanicus representative, treason..."

The voice of justice continued like this during several minutes. Not being an Arbitrator, a lawyer or a specialist of the Lex Imperialis, the Commanding officer of the Fay 20th of the Guard had no idea what sort of punishments awaited the crime perpetrators but it didn't look good for the Byukur dynasty. Oh, well. The eldest son had already been killed by the orks and the cadet had perished during the coup. Over a dozen cousins had been killed by the Mechanicus Explorator teams when they learned what had happened aboard the starships and on the ground but there were two other sons, three daughters and over a hundred relatives alive to continue the name...or share the terrible punishment the Governor crimes deserved.

"Wow. I had no idea it was possible to commit so many crimes." Murmured Taylor 'Weaver' Hebert to Larkine's right.

The young woman was now wearing a modified gray-black Guard uniform which had been in the last hours been specifically modified for her by the Mechanicus. No power armour - the generosity of the Tech-Priests did not go that far - but she had been given full sets of armour similar to the protections she wore upon arrival hybridised with a sort of light carapace. It was the five shining medals she had been awarded hours before that were attracting the attention however. The medals and her new epaulets of Major to be precise, there were few men and even less women who got directly promoted from outsider to an important officer rank.

"...and scamming of ammunition destined to Imperial Guard regiments. How do you plead?"

The question was not a triviality: should 'guilty' come out of the large and greasy mouth, there would be no trial and Boris Byukur would have an eternity of torment to look for. 'Not guilty' was going to give the overweight grox a few hours of reprieve...not that it would do any good in the end.

"Not guilty, Judge." Sniffed the Exalted Overlord in a high-pitched voice. "These accusations are lies and heresy! Where are the traitors who dare accuse me? Where are they?"

Hundreds of red robes carrying the familiar white and black skull of the cogboys rose from their seats. Usually their metal faces and mechadendrites didn't show any expression but the circumstances weren't normal. Byukur proxies had killed many Tech-Priests in their purges born from baseless paranoia, and now the survivors supported by the Explorators wanted blood. According to the rumours, the sycophants of a certain deceased Admiral had been spaced out of the warships head first and without a voidsuit. It was no great secret they would sell their mechanical souls in a heartbeat if they were given the chance to do the same thing to Byukur.

Clicking and trembling, five cargo-hauler servitors came from the alleys, carrying over a hundred piles of data-slates, digi-scrolls and other data repositories varying from the centuries-old parchment to the modern crystal data cells.

"A particularly overwhelming amount of evidence has been gathered, I see."

Arbitrators were the justice professionals of the Imperium and were not showing often their emotions. Today nevertheless a hint of amusement could be guessed in Judge Otto's remarks.

"I want my lawyers!" Barked the disgraced Governor. At last the potbellied noble understood the peril he was finding himself in. Glances were thrown everywhere as if the mere mention of the law predators was enough to teleport them to the rescue. But the seats next to the ex-Governor stayed desperately empty.

"Your lawyers have been given the date and the place of your trial, Boris Buykur." Was the icy reply. "It is not the fault of this court they failed to present themselves."

Indeed it wasn't. And no one had even had to do place a word here or a suggestion there. When it came to light Buykur purges and general odious behaviour were going to cost him his title and his head, those could distance themselves had done so with impressive speed. Larkine had not thought about the lawyers. But when it came down to it, the men practising one of the most detested professions of the Imperium were not going to rush to his defence. Not when it had the high probability of putting them on the new Governor's black list.

"Accusation, you can proceed."

Magos Explorator Desmerius Lankovar and Prefectus Tertius Don Ald left their comfortable throne-seats. The dozens of accused waiting on the seats behind Byukur all shivered to various degrees. Both were foreign parties on Fay – one was from Stygies VIII and the other from the Sector Capital of Nyx –but the last days had been largely sufficient to form an opinion on them. Knowing you had the Administratum or the Mechanicus after your skin was bad. Having both organisations wanting you dead was kind of counter-indicated if you wanted to live a long and prosperous life.

And Lankovar was after their skins. In fifteen minutes, the representative of the Mechanicus revealed in great detail how Boris Byukur had conspired with his entire House to divert billions of Throne Gelts, assassinate cogboys right and left, shirk on his military duties and generally utterly fail his duty to the God-Emperor. The evidence given was the equivalent of a continent-sized library and was summed-up in the record time of one hour and fifty standard minutes. The former Exalted Governor, deprived of his justice protectors, stammered incoherently during this rising list of accusations and his counter-arguments could have been comical if so many men and women hadn't died for this fat-greasy thing.

Don Ald, Prefectus Tertius and emissary of the Prefectus Primus on Nyx, took longer but he had thousands of infractions, crimes and regulation breaks to report. The Administratum was also more prone on using human sources and partial witnesses: fifty or sixty servants and minor bureaucrats were brought before the Judge to testify and tell how nasty their former Master had been. For all the Colonel could see, every man and woman spoke of their own will. No coercion had been necessary to turn them against Boris Buykur.

It took three hours for the list of accusations to be completed. Each embezzlement, manipulation, conspiracy and murder was fascinating in a macabre way. Byukur had created a small empire of crime and felony and he had not limited himself to the system he governed. Several nobles of Wuhan, Petersburg, Omsk and Harbin had helped him. The investigators of the Arbites were going to track them mercilessly; it could be seen in the Judge's very eyes. The efforts of millions of hours of tax evasions, murders and unbridled arrogance were coming to an end.

During this extraordinary accumulation of unlawful behaviour, the ex-Governor had stayed mumbling and crying on his own. Sometimes he shouted diverse accusations to someone in the audience. In a few occasions he tried to counter the accusations raining on him, only to be firmly rebutted as new proofs and evidence scrolls were presented.

And then finally it was over. The Arbitrator-Judge banged his desk with his gavel.

"Boris Byukur, this court declares you guilty of 78 631 chiefs of accusations."

The Exalted Governor moaned in despair, attracting looks of disgusts from the Arbitrators and the rest of the justice representatives.

"You are attainted of all your titles, positions, lands, planets and material possessions. Everything you held in the name of His Holy Majesty is thereby confiscated and will be distributed to loyal servants of the Imperium. As for your punishment..."

"You can't kill me! I am a Governor!"

"You were a Governor." The sinister rectification silenced the fallen noble. "Before me I only see a traitor to the Imperium."

A twitch animated the lips of the Judge. No one in the transformed Ball Room was stupid enough to think it was a pleasant smile.

"But you are correct. The magnitude of your crimes is such that your final fate is indentured servitor serfdom in the service of the Adeptus Mechanicus for the next five thousand three hundred and thirty-five years."

This time there was no moan; Boris Byukur was staying with his mouth wide open like the idiot he was. More than a witness laughed and under the red robes Daviev felt confident the cogboys were recording every moment of this humiliation.

"Each convicted member of your House will join you to serve this sentence...once they've paid for their own crimes."

Two Enforcers walked at a slow and intimidating pace and seized the soon-to-be servitor by the arms. Byukur, terrified by the fate he had been rightly condemned for, tried to escape their grasp with uncoordinated kicks.

Given that the Governor had likely not practised a serious physical activity, it was doomed to fail and the only thing he managed was to anger the enforcers. A servo-skull planed over the short-lived melee to show the images of the Overlord's fall and thus was well-placed to see the first enforcer strike Boris Byukur in the rear. The power of the shock baton could not be very high, but for the greasy idiot it was like an artillery shell had blasted him. The second shock baton was more than sufficient to send him to the lands of dreams. Unconscious, the ex-Fay Governor was dragged away, his long robe comically loosening and falling behind every meter. By the time the doors were reached, the destitute noble was half-naked, a repulsing spectacle if there ever was one.

"Take him away to his punishment. Enforcers, bring the next accused."

For an instant, the commanding officer of the Fay 20th felt the urge to stay and see how many years the depraved Pontifex Mundi was going to receive. But there was a lot of paperwork waiting at their temporary headquarters, a regiment to rebuild and hours of training to do.

"Go back to your duties." He ordered to his officers and his new Major. "We have a lot of work before we can be considered combat ready and excuses are unlikely to be accepted after this."

* * *

 **Major Taylor Hebert**

The night had long fallen on Fay III and the temperatures were becoming rather fresh. Despite the harvest season having begun, it was not the kind of summer she had been used at Brockton Bay, more like early spring. On top of the tall building serving as the Fay 20th current headquarters, Taylor observed the lights of the capital shining in the obscurity.

Before the Battle against Behemoth at New Delhi, she would have been back inside the barracks. Even with glasses, her ability to see in the night had been awfully limited and the insects she controlled were not known for their enhanced vision. It was before she was the recipient of a standard eye operation done by the Guard medical personnel. From this point –five days ago – she didn't need glasses anymore.

Seeing perfectly was a boon she had never imagined before coming here; after her super-villain past, the PRT and whatever Tinker specialised in optical prosthesis were certainly not going to waste their money when old-fashioned glasses or lenses were available. On the other hand, it left her able to see the grotesque constructions the Imperium of Man decided was 'art'.

Take the 'Exalted Cathedral of the Martyrs' for example. While the hour was late, the gargantuan construction was still fully illuminated and acted like a beacon five kilometres away. Three hundred and fifty metres high, close to a kilometre long, this place of worship was a synthesis of the worst aspects of the gothic and baroque styles. The angel statues sculpted in marble or whatever equivalent stone existed on Fay III weren't so bad. The gargoyles, the gold, the precious stones, the arcades, the colours and all the other elements however were too charged and too ostentatious. It was like the architects had tried to put the maximum of decorations in a minimum of space...force was to admit they had succeeded. The result was an architectural abomination which was shining before and after the sunset.

It wasn't the only thing wrong with the city of Great Landing. After seeing a cathedral of such opulence, one would almost expect the rest of the inhabitants to live in comfortable conditions. This wasn't the case. The middle-classes had living quarters that wouldn't have been out of place in New York or Boston, but the areas where the poorest inhabitants were concentrated were worse than Brockton Bay post-Leviathan. Thousands of years in the future, mankind had not solved the wealth inequalities. If anything, they had worsened. The nobles and the aristocracy of the Imperium lived in opulent and extravagant palaces which were so decorated the result was giving her the urge to vomit. At the same time, they were thousands of beggars pleading for scraps of food a city block away. Luxurious air-cars - so splendid the car enthusiasts of 2011 would sell their two arms to own them - were flying over a crowd living in slums conditions.

But the worst part was the looks she and the rest of the regiment had gotten at their arrival in the city after the battle against the orks. Nearly all the men and women had prostrated themselves and regarded the winners as something close to God. In their eyes there had been fear and adoration in equal measure.

What had humanity become in thirty-two thousand years? When had they abandoned their ideals? The future among the stars was supposed to be a version of this Aleph-movie named Star Trek, not something which made the Empire of Star Wars kind and funny! When had the future turned so wrong?

Weaver did not know the answer. Hell, no one knew the answer. In the days since she had arrived, the former super-villain had searched information on the past millennia. In this like in many other things, it was the Mechanicus which had been the most useful. These strange man-cyborgs compulsively recorded every data of importance and a lot of things that weren't critical too – though why they were so fascinated with monkeys was beyond her.

Their abridged version of events unfortunately didn't go past the Age of Strife, a terrible period where apparently humanity had lost most of its knowledge, technology and population when the Skynet-type AIs went mad and the robots launched their revolt against their creators. These five millenary of darkness were given the name of Old Night. Between the twenty-fifth and the thirtieth millennium, uncountable billions died and Earth itself was ravaged by apocalyptic catastrophes born from thermonuclear radiation and biological weapons.

Names had survived the eons. Merica, Jermany, Franc, Hy Brasil, the Antarctic Kingdoms. With a sort of futurist implant, she had in a matter of minutes been granted the ability to decipher the variants of this 'Low Gothic' language. Put it simply it was a base of English with many derivatives and expressions borrowed from Spanish, Chinese, German, French and some dialects which had probably not existed in 2011.

The country names had survived, the oceans of Earth had not. Terra –since it was the name everyone used in the thirty-fifth millennium – was a barren planet requiring tens of thousands ships daily to survive. It was a gigantic urban centre where hundreds of billions lived and died under the polluted skies. It was a planet-straddling temple built to venerate the God-Emperor. At least Mars was still red; granted the red they had showed her was certainly a sign of rust given all the industry they had packed everywhere. But Earth...the Earth she had lived on was no more. Fay III had more in common with 2011-Earth than the current homeworld of humanity.

 _My world is gone_.

As much as she had hated the abandonment of Brockton Bay after the Endbringer attack...the United States had still been a democracy and relatively tolerant; it was not the fault of the government massive city-killers monsters attacked every six months. The President wasn't responsible for the explosive rise of the parahumans, as far as she had been able to ascertain he was not a member of Cauldron. The Imperium of Man wasn't a democracy, it was an absolute dictatorship. The justice trials were incredibly ruthless and brutal, no matter their efficiency. Humanitarian concerns and prisoner of laws conventions were reduced to the strict minimum. Governors and high-ranking soldiers were warlords ruling the stars under a steel fist.

All in service of a being who had tried to conquer the Galaxy only to be betrayed and crippled by his favoured son at the moment of triumph. A being who appeared to protect and guide humanity to the very stars despite being forced into complete immobility and in a decrepit state to boot.

The inhabitants of Fay called him the God-Emperor, the Master of Mankind and the Unifier. The Mechanicus called him the Omnissiah. Idly, the heroine of Earth Beta wondered if such a powerful being could vanquish an Endbringer. The thought was banished as soon as it appeared. Silent and powerful, the Emperor was supposed to stay on the 'Golden Throne' powering an incredible device known as the 'Astronomican'. Nevertheless it was an interesting question who exactly had helped her against the darkness because they couldn't be a lot of great golden figures between the dimensions...

The noise of someone climbing the last metal stairs disrupted these last musings. If she had chosen this place for a break, it was because it was more or less deserted once the sun set over the horizon. That she had also only to activate her dorsal reactors for thirty seconds while the rest of the regiment needed several minutes of efforts was also a factor.

Momentarily Weaver had the envy to play a joke and return to the ground, leaving the newcomer alone and whatever message he or she carried with him not received. But as a familiar hat revealed itself from the shadows, this joke alas was erased from the options.

"Major."

"Commissar."

To be honest, Taylor felt really conflicted about the man who wore the black uniform the SS officers of Nazi Germany wouldn't have denied as their own. His primary job was to kill every soldier who failed in his duties, oversee the morale of the regiment and inspire the men and the women to fight as best as they could – by shooting them if he believed it was necessary.

But Zuhev had also led the charge against the small parties of orks reaching the trenches. He had contributed to save plenty of lives and lost an arm in the process – Tech-Priest Morkys had really dragged his mechanical parts to find him a replacement. This was not the behaviour of the average Earth Beta villain: neither Kaiser nor Lung would have risked their lives for the average gang member. The Commissar had done it. The rumours the veterans told the new recruits Zuhev had beaten down the ork responsible for his mutilation with his own arm...but it was likely an exaggeration.

Turning her head, the former super-villain known as Skitter noticed the Commissar had already discarded his military medals. Strange. No matter the rank, every Guardsman who had participated in what the Fay administration already called the 'Triumph of Ramev's Pass' had one or two.

Taylor herself had received five. The _Order of Fay First Class_ and the _Wings of Fay_ for her kills directly or indirectly of the ork leaders. The _Iron Skull_ because she had killed over a hundred orks by herself. The _Silver Skull_ for a thousand green aliens' deaths. And the _Shield of Iron_ for helping the Mechanicus and the Administratum reclaim thousands of tons of steel alloys and war materials after the battle.

 _I suppose I will have to put them in a box too next morning too. They are too shiny and attract too much attention_.

Added to these decorations were also a large parcel of virgin land and a quarter million of Throne Gelts. What she was going to do with those, she had no idea.

 _And money will not bring me back to Earth Beta anyway_.

"I suppose you haven't climbed all these stairs to watch the stars with me, Commissar."

She wasn't really taking any risks there: the morale-enforcer of the regiment wasn't a man who looked like an admirer of beauty in all its forms.

"I am afraid star-gazing has never been a hobby of mine." Conceded the political officer before rapidly turning to the professional business without delay. "The 20th has received new orders. We must redeploy to the Wuhan System immediately."

"So soon?" She tried her best to hide her stupefaction but it was not easy. "We are still recovering..."

A single twitch of the Commissar's bionic eye made sure she didn't finish the sentence.

"Fine." The newly promoted Major huffed. "I will go warn the Colonel all our new recruits and machines are going to fight their first battle."

It could have been worse: with the latest batch of volunteers they had received this morning, the regiment's manpower had passed over the respectable number of five thousand and three hundred women and men. Plus they had forty Chimeras and two hundred Tauros, not real tanks for the Imperium but formidable all the same.

"I didn't know the orks were attacking the defences of this Hive World, though."

"The astropath message we received didn't mention any orks." If it was possible, Zuhev was harbouring an expression far sinister than the one he had expressed when he commanded the firing squads to kill several PDF deserters. "It was bearing the seal of the Inquisition."

The menace contained in this single word dissuaded Weaver to make the appropriate joke of 'No one expects...' with humorists in red robes. For one she didn't think the Commissar would like the joke Uber and Leet had spread thorough Brockton Bay with their private channel. Secondly she had the feeling that in a galaxy where religious fanatics could dictate Imperial politics, any group calling itself by that name was not exactly going to tolerate the mockery.

"To the stars, then." Said the parahuman as she jumped over the balustrade and activated the equipment built by Dragon several millennia ago.

After all, no one had said being a hero was without its dangers, no?

"To the stars in the God-Emperor's name."

* * *

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Atlas Graveyard Sub-Sector**

 **Calypso System**

 **Frigate** _ **Fearless of Nihilas**_

 **7.207.289M35**

 **Codicier Librarian Bayar Rysan**

The Astartes Librarian pushed a runic command on the wall and the splendid view of the Calypso System disappeared, replaced by the grey and boring plasteel of an Imperium warship hull.

As pleasant as the view was - the Calypso System had three Civilised Worlds and all of them had their own beauty – it would be only a distraction for his own activities.

The battle on this world had been won with ease; the orks had been defeated in less than five days and their warboss slain in duel by Captain Mur Arquenis, no battle-brother had been lost and only two had received light injuries that would be healed far faster than the time it would take for the Gladius-class Frigate to reach their next destination. Truly this battle would be a new mark of honour for the 5th Company of the Death Strike Chapter. One more year of his Company cutting the greenskins heads, and the Space Marine had little doubt the Nyx Sector would be free of ork taint.

Unfortunately, this wasn't going to happen. Orders had come from Nihilas and the Chapter Master himself to redeploy one Warp-year away on the outskirts of the Eastern Fringe. A new xenos race had started to attack several isolated outposts and merchant starships in their infinite arrogance, proving once more time a good xenos was a dead xenos. In accord with the Imperial authorities of the Sector, their Company was going to find the xenos homeworld and deliver the Emperor's wrath on them. It was better to reduce them to mere atoms while they were still a small threat than to give them the time and the resources they needed to become a troublesome nuisance.

The Nyx Sector was truly not a priority anymore: in the last weeks the astropaths bound by His Light had delivered close to a dozen victory transmissions. Petersburg, Fay, Omsk, Txacopec, Matapan...as many worlds where the ork tide had been completely stopped, though garrison duties and cleaning work were going to take decades and require hundreds of thousands Guardsmen lives.

Yet he was troubled. Perhaps it was the haphazard images which had appeared during his mediations. Or it might be the seven campaigns he had fought against the orks and the experience he had gained on this barbaric race while fighting them. Maybe after years of fighting the greenskins, he was simply too eager to crush their skulls and plant them at the top of the fortresses gates his brothers and himself had saved. Or the source of his anxiety came from the issue they hadn't found the ork commanding the Waagh among the collection of warbosses who had invaded the Sector.

This was too important to leave it in the balance. A complete strategic situation would not reach them in time, thus Codicier Bayar Rysan was going to make a reading of the Tarot. Of course it was unlikely he was going to have a clear answer, but something to interpret was always welcome. Placing the seventy-eight psychoactive liquid-crystal wafers linked to the Emperor's Will on the short desk he kept in his quarters, the psychic Astartes concentrated for several minutes.

Not a sound could be heard save the slight vibration indicating the room was on a starship accelerating progressively towards the outer reaches of the stellar system. Minutes after minutes, the concentration he imposed on his mind went stronger and the tiny spark of power he drew from the Immaterium flew easily into the cards. The aetheric protections of the Tarot cards shone in a blue light.

Satisfied nothing heretical or anything like event of explosive nature had happened, the Death Strike Librarian formulated the question at the heart of his shielded mind.

 _What is the future of the Nyx Sector_?

Posing his non-armoured hand on top of the deck, Bayar Rysan drew the first card.

"The Crusader."

An old image of the Primarch Dorn was represented, and the Librarian felt instantly reassured. This was a very good omen, announcing conviction, command and bravery. In the background, men and women of the Imperium stood triumphant. Years passed and heroes died, but new ones always rose to defend humanity.

The second card was drawn.

"The Captain."

The fifth card of Excuteria and another good omen, though it was curious to see it in second place. The mastery over a limited area and a means to an end. A leader of men bravely commanding his troops and showing them the way to defeat the enemy. Strangely, the soldier was wearing an old uniform of the Great Crusade-era. It was definitely unanticipated but the Codicier reminded himself that with all the Tarot combination possible and the Will of the Golden Throne, mysteries could and would happen.

It was time to draw the third card.

"The Arch-Magos."

Another good drawing, it appeared. The tenth card of the Excuteria set was representing the mastery of craft, the machines and the old ways. The impression he was getting from the card was more influencing the latter two than the former, but there were nuances which might have escaped him. What it meant for the Nyx Sector was harder to interpret. The arrival of a Forge-World envoy, the discovery of a lost STC, new Tech-Priests to reinforce those already in charge of the Imperial technology or another scenario he hadn't envisaged?

Still, three good cards out of the seven he was going to draw. Hopefully the good fortune was going to continue.

The fourth card was drawn...and Bayar Rysan whistled between his teeth.

"The Angel of Death."

This time the feeling of duty and hero of old imposed itself. The Space Marine represented on the card was in a Great Crusade-armour and leading thousands of men in a charge. An Angel of Death, cast in the flames of war and defending the Master of Mankind's realm. It raised troubling questions of course. Rysan and the half-company guarding the _Fearless of Nihilas_ were the only Space Marines in the Sector. And they were leaving.

In the end, the Librarian shrugged. Astartes deployments and real-time locations were in general outdated at the best of times and changed on very short notice. He would still ask the Captain but there was little chance the name of their Astartes cousins on their way was known.

The fifth card arrived...and the time of good omens was past.

"The Xeno."

A hideous Ork covered the better part of the card. The danger from without, the very enemy Astartes had been engineered and trained to fight. Given the state of the Nyx Sector at the moment, this fifth card was anything but a surprise. But it was concerning. The card wouldn't have shown if the Orks were completely routed. Unless Nyx would have soon another xenos species to deal with?

There were too many predictions...perhaps the sixth?

"The Soulless."

This one...this wasn't good at all. The first interpretation was a deep warning that machine intelligences were never human and were denied true sentience. Frightening, very frightening as there had been no indication of Abominable Intelligences or disastrous Mechanicus experiments so close to Nihilas. The second interpretation was instability, faithlessness and the revelation of very bad things to come.

"The Astronomican." A bright ray of powerful light was the image shown. A card he had never had the privilege to draw before today in the last place of a Tarot prediction. "Hope."


	8. Arrival Interlude The Ghosts of Terra

**Arrival Interlude**

 **The Ghosts of Terra**

 **Somewhere**

 **Sometime**

There was a bright light and for a moment all he could feel was pain.

Breathe.

Pain.

Breathe.

Pain.

It was a cycle of insanity, trapped between pain and the desperate urge to take a little air in his tortured lungs.

He wasn't able to see or control his augmented muscles. He wasn't able to see or to hear. At irregular intervals, flashes of ice, cities and plains came to his mind but were they memories or landscapes waiting for him once he was released from his torment? He didn't know.

Whispers were heard sometimes but they sounded muted and he didn't manage to guess their signification. Maybe they were people who would deliver him from this cycle of pain? One way or another, an end to this curse would be the greatest blessing he had ever received.

Breathe.

Pain.

Breathe.

Pain.

How much time had passed since this torture started? Years? Decades? Centuries? Millennia? Whatever the true answer was, he would say the impression was far longer.

And then it stopped.

For an instant he wondered if it was a cruel joke. He expected the pain at any moment to come back. After an endless period suffering from it, it was like an old acquaintance.

The hesitation did not last. Using the memories which had been psycho-indoctrinated in him long ago, a combination of commands was executed and with rapid moves he separated the helmet from his battle-armour.

Light.

Air.

Wind.

For a few seconds that lasted like an eternity, there was nothing to savour but the absence of the terrible pain, the air and the rest of the elements caressing his face.

"I AM...I AM FREE!"

That was what he had intended to say but his voice came out like the rumbles of rusted machinery which had stayed decades out of service.

The weakness of his vocal chords was a minor inconvenience, though. As his eyes acclimated to the light with their usual celerity, the scene in front of him was not the one he had seen before the torture began.

It was a desert, and a well-spread one at that. Dunes and the habitual formations of sand were everywhere. A yellow sun was shining hard in a blue sky devoid of clouds. A strong wind was raising a powerful sand storm at about forty kilometres from his position.

"Where am I?"

A desert was the evident question but the world and its position in the galaxy were of greater importance. Watching the sky, he saw no moon or any other aster allowing him to discover where he had arrived. How had he arrived here by the way? The traces left by his armoured feet were the ones he had made in the previous seconds. There was no trace of any tank, ground transport or any vehicle. Maybe a lander or another type of orbital-to-ground transport? But those would have left their own imprints in the sand, modifying the dune he was currently on.

Multiple scenarios played in his mind, but he stopped as a frightening thought echoed in his mind, one he hadn't tried to address since the pain had ended.

"Who am I?"

 _Ovael_.

The word came like a whisper in his head, but one which sounded foreign and malicious. No, it was not his name.

"My name is...Psamtic." His twin hearts beat harder as the revelation comforted his mind.

"Psamtic Mehhur, Legionary of the Fifteenth Legion, 6th Fellowship."

A flood of memories erupted in his head and Psamtic remembered everything...close to everything of his Astartes life. He remembered the Legion. He remembered the Milky Way. He remembered Prospero. He remembered Tizca.

And he remembered dying inside. He remembered the Wolves unleashed on Tizca, he and his brothers trying desperately to defend the unarmed civilians and failing. The duel between Magnus and the Great Wolf in front of the Pyramid of Photep. A fight their primogenitor lost. The escape, their settling on the Planet of Sorcerers. An exile they had not deserved, a fate they could have avoided if their Primarch had not been so arrogant, righteous and convinced of his own infallibility. Psamtic had fought on Terra and saw how monstrous the eight other eight Legions following Horus had become. And to be honest the Thousands Sons had not been better, with the flesh-change consuming them one by one and the most gifted changing the very nature of reality at their whims.

They had lost and in the battle had only hastened their damnation. Magnus had taken refuge in his Tower and the Legion had been on the edge of annihilation as the flesh-change claimed more and more victims...the First Captain and several of the senior officers had believed they had solution...

And there his souvenirs stopped.

What had happened for him to arrive to this desert when his last memories were of the Planet of the Sorcerers, Psamtic Mehhur had no idea – though given the tendency of their patron to betray the Fifteenth Legion at every opportunity he could hazard a few unpleasant guesses. He somewhat doubted this desert was going to give the answers anyway.

Still, it would be premature to despair he concluded. Grabbing his helmet where it lied on the sand, the Thousands Son Legionary felt absolutely no pain, no flesh-change, nothing. His equipment was back to the red colour it had originally been painted. For the first time in what had felt like an eternity he was able to think clearly and choose his own path. Finished the constant bickering of the sorcerers mocking his weak pyrokinetic talent but ordering him around at the first sign there was Astartes opposition and they needed a meatshield. If he had had a choice, he would have rather chosen a Pleasure World than this kind of desert but he wasn't going to lament on it.

Oh, by the cursed beak of the Great Liar. A long walk had never killed an Astartes...Psamtic had just to hope this wasn't a Death World.

Now to decide the direction he was going to take. East, west, north, south same problem: as far as his extended vision could see, there were only dunes and sand. It was problematic. His battle-armour systems informed him where the magnetic fields were and a quick scientific calculus told him that the current position of the sun was close to its zenith but that was all the information he was going to get.

"Let's try the north, then." His helmet under his right arm – he really wanted to breath fresh air after being trapped in his armour for who knew how long – Psamtic started to march in long strides. The sun progressively descended on his left as the hours passed. Still no sign of life or anything which could be construed as civilisation. As the sun set in a flamboyant spectacle over the horizon, Psamtic started to slow down. An Astartes could easily walk three times this pace for a month but it didn't mean he wasn't going to require water and sustainment soon. His red armour had somewhat been restored to its effectiveness before the Sack of Prospero, with no mutation or any Warp-contamination. But it had also no supplies of any kind and it would be kind of embarrassing if he missed the only oasis in the vicinity because he was too unobservant.

The second day was more productive than the first on discoveries. An oasis was found, and fruit trees growing around the pond of water satisfied his transhuman organism. Moreover, they were old tombs with human remains on a hill nearby. None of the graves were harbouring symbols he recognised, but this didn't mean anything so far in the wilderness. In general the bureaucrats of the Imperium had still enough sense most of the time not to build gigantic monuments where a non-augmented human died in days. Usually.

In the last hours of the day however he came into view of ruined road signs directions. A quick dig revealed the sandy road a few feet underneath and the Thousands Son continued his adventure on a lighter mood. While the state of neglect was a bit disappointing, there was a possibility the human civilisation of this world had fallen on hard times. Many times the Fifteenth Legion had assisted entire populations flee their homes from an apocalyptic exodus. Earthquakes, volcanoes and space hulk impacts were nothing to be underestimated.

It was on the last hours of the third day he came into view of the first city. Or rather the half-buried houses and buildings of what had been a town. By the silence and the damage caused by the elements, humanity had long abandoned this settlement. The librarian and keeper of knowledge in him grieved for this loss of knowledge. Judging by the gutted state of certain buildings, some must have been up to twenty floors. It was far from the height some Hive World spires soared through the skies, but it implied a moderately advanced civilisation having realised the potential of large-scale industrialisation. No sign of any Imperial aquilas or eight-folded stars however.

There were more concerning issues than the lack of imbecilic two-eagled decorations unfortunately. After three days of walk – by Astartes standards, non-augmented humans would have been unable to follow his relentless speed – there were really too little animals, birds and insects for this kind of environment. Yes, a desert was a desert, Psamtic was well-aware of all the bad jokes and word games his brothers and he could imagine in these circumstances. But the oasis had had perfectly pure water and eatable fruits. Generally, where water existed animals gathered. It was a law of nature.

Had some kind of virus wiped out the humans and the rest of life on this planet? This was not a pleasant thing to contemplate. Not just because he would be trapped here until a new star-traveller. While a planet was immense, there had been no signs for the moment of anything which could justify a mass extermination.

Of course such things had never really discouraged the World Eaters of Angron before, no?

Several broken bridges had given him a clue of the roads layout and the Legionary continue north-east. Another point of water and wild plantations gave him what was required to walk and walk again. It was frankly liberating. Short breaks allowed him to meditate.

It was on the fourth day he saw the pyramids in the distance.

As he climbed up to one of the largest dunes up to that point and discovered the three structures majestically dominating the entire elevation in front of him, Psamtic Mehhur felt the urge to cry.

Had he been sent back to the ruins of Prospero?

But no, those pyramids were clearly not fit for human habitation or library studies. If it was, humanity wouldn't have built a large city in the valley below. It was not Tizca. It was not Tizca. Psamtic had to repeat it like a mantra a few dozen more times before calming himself.

But if it was not his home, where was he? The large river he saw the course on interminable kilometres was a source of water which must have been essential for the fallen great city buried under million tons of sand. The pyramids had their bases in the sand too. Descending the dune, he tried to remember how many post-Age of Strife civilisations had adopted pyramid in their cultures. It should certainly give him a hint or two on his current situation.

But the answer was 'a lot'. The 6th Fellowship contingent he had been part of had participated in the conquest of no less than ten worlds having ancient pyramidal designs. There were hundreds more dispersed all over the Milky Way. And none of those worlds had half-buried cities and pyramids in the sand. Not in any reports he had been able to see anyway.

He continued to walk. Any sign which might have been used to reveal the causes of this abandonment had been erased by time. Sometimes on walls there were inscriptions barely decipherable. One was 'Gold' or 'Golden' in a Khemetic variant of Low Gothic, but Psamtic wasn't exactly sure. The other was probably 'End-' something. Maybe.

It was sad to see a civilisation like this, disappeared and with no one to remember. It brought him bad memories. Tizca, Prospero. Of course the Wolves had ravaged their homeworld, it was doubtful even ruins had been left behind after the Fifteenth's escape.

Psamtic didn't stop his researches here, needless to say. Astartes didn't stop at the first obstacle and the Thousands Sons were Astartes, forgetting for one moment the problematic question of their allegiance. But as days passed his researches found little achievements. Whatever had destroyed the human civilisation of this world had done it in a thorough manner. The machines he found were not familiar and had not been conceived according to the standards of Mars – although it might not have made a difference if the disaster had struck hundreds of years ago. Then again, Psamtic had never been the one among his brothers who could in ten seconds build an improvised auspex or a vox station. He was as far as removed from a Techmarine as an Astartes could possibly be. Sometimes he found humans tombs here and there, but they were old and no records of any sort accompanied them.

The houses and structures had not been conceived to handle the weight of a transhuman warrior, limiting his explorations in the collapsing buildings. Psamtic was not a genius renowned by half the galaxy for succeeding in archeotech-finding missions. Not that it would make any difference he suspected. When there is nothing to study, the conclusions of an Explorator-Fleet would be logical, extremely short and to the point. Of course the fleet in question would have a far larger support base, greater numbers and more experience than him.

On the ninth day of his arrival he stopped momentarily his explorations and climbed the greatest pyramid. The view was as spectacular as he had expected. The pyramid dominated the desert and the river...but it had certainly not been built as an observation post. The heavy stones and the quality of the work spoke more about a temple or a military monument to commemorate false gods or past victories. How ironic the civilisation had been destroyed but the temples tried to proclaim the magnificence of their dead masters.

Humanity always had a flair for the dramatic.

Psamtic supposed that his belonging to the Thousands Sons disqualified him to throw stones or make snide comments. The moral of this story?

Pride comes before the fall.

Once at the top the greatest pyramid, he was able to confirm it dominated everything. Alas, what he saw was disheartening. The city he had explored had been the greatest of this region, but there were uncountable ruins of steel and other ferric materials in the distance. Not one of these urban centres showed the slightest sign of human life.

Psamtic waited there a long time. For several hours to be exact, until the sun ceased to lighten the world of its light and the stars became visible in the vault of heaven. There were a lot of comets blazing like a million fires the void. Without any pollution the sky was totally clear and there was nothing to impede his view. A pity he did not recognise any of these constellations. There were no warp storms or the major nebulas which could be seen from Prospero. None of the stars the astronomers of Tizca showed to their friends could be seen.

"The stars are bright tonight, aren't they?"

The voice came out of nowhere. Despite the surprise and the absence of any human presence until now, the psycho-training and the countless hours of battle endured during the Great Crusade and the Heresy afterward made sure his faithful bolter was pointing behind him mere milliseconds before the new arrival had finished speaking.

How the cloaked figure had managed to sneak mere meters behind him, Psamtic wasn't able to say. True he hadn't particularly on guard but Astartes senses could notice a rodent at several kilometres if there was no other interference.

"Calmly, Son of Magnus. I am not an enemy."

These words did not reassure him at all. In fact, it lowered the temperature of the altered blood in his veins by at least five degrees. The mysterious figure knew he belonged to the Fifteenth Legion. Somehow, the interloper had found him on this world without him seeing the slightest sign of surveillance.

There were several methods to keep an Astartes unaware he was under scrutiny and none of them implied pleasant possibilities. Monitoring stations linked with macrolaser batteries and demonic assistance came to mind.

"Not an enemy? Who in the name of Prospero ghosts are you?"

"A simple traveller searching company for the night."

The light tone and the preposterousness of the situation brought a smile to his lips. It didn't last. The cloaked being in the shadows was somewhat blurred, like his corporeal essence wasn't able to support the laws of the Materium. And this meant...

"Try again. I doubt this meeting is a coincidence, daemon."

"Daemon?" The figure sounded honestly amused by the Legionary calling him a denizen of the Immaterium. "I admit I had never been called by this term before."

Psamtic ignored the rebuttal. Far more intelligent and powerful Imperials than him had been duped by the forces of the Warp. All were liars and loved misguiding their followers and enemies alike.

"On which world are we?"

The answer came vibrating with a sense of sadness and regret so deep that if it was not a daemonic entity, the Thousands Son would have felt sorry for him.

"We are on Earth."

"Very funny. Terra or Earth is inhabited by billions and no one could see stars in its polluted sky."

"An Earth." Amended the figure. "Not your Earth."

"In case you aren't aware, Earth, Terra or whatever name you use for the homeworld of humanity...the planet has a moon." And his Astartes eyes had never caught a sign of it in nine days of observation.

"It was destroyed." Replied tranquilly his interlocutor. "Like I said: an Earth where humanity had never the opportunity to rise to the stars."

"You are speaking of a different plane of existence." The survivor of Prospero said, taking great care to show how ridiculous he found the affirmation. Demons were liars assuredly, but he was somewhat disappointed by how huge these falsehoods were. Cross-dimensional transfers required astronomic amount of energy that no star-faring race had ever managed to concentrate. Warp travel was the closest thing available and it was extremely limited. Being on a different Earth...the daemon could have said something more credible.

"I am." The figure turned its hood towards the river flowing peacefully around the ruins. "This dimension was similar to the one the Imperium emerged. But during the late decades of the second millennium...something changed."

"The Emperor?"

"If only." Behind the hood, Psamtic could almost see an amused expression. "As far as I am aware, the Emperor never existed as such in this dimension."

That...that was a far more worrying affirmation to expression. All the demons routinely insulted the Emperor by diverse nicknames, the most common being 'Anathema'. But almost none denied his existence. But it was a lie. It had to be.

"The great changes all started when he appeared floating over the Atlantic Ocean. They called him the Golden Man. He was able to cure incurable diseases and inhuman feats for the time."

Psamtic really didn't like where this story was going. At all. But he let the shadowy figure continue. It wasn't like he had anything else to do.

"It was five years after his first apparition that the superheroes and the supervillains started to appear. People experiencing the worst day of their entire life, people on the edge of death and insanity were suddenly granted fantastic powers. Flying, controlling metal, healing, shooting lasers, constructing devices centuries ahead of the technological base they had. But it was not a Golden Age. The people with powers – who were quickly renamed parahumans – were in majority criminals and lawbreakers. Their powers thrived on violence and battle, not in helping their neighbours and co-citizens. They were heroes who tried to enforce the mantle of justice, but the very nature of the powers' triggering was working against humanity. To make things infinitely worse, gigantic monsters rose from the abysses and the centre of the Earth, creatures able to kill hundreds of parahumans with ease and wipe out the greatest cities from the map in mere hours. Humanity was slowly dying."

"What was the Golden Man doing while the world burnt?"

"He tried to be a hero." The answer was pronounced in a sarcastic way. "But he wasn't really good at it. Just imagine: a being able to fly at speeds so elevated it was close to teleportation, save millions with an unlimited array of abilities, but with no sense of priority. Every time he acted, it could be to save an old woman come back home, heal a wounded man about to die from an accident or save a city from an Endbringer monster. But there was no known way to communicate with him and the scale of a danger wasn't a factor in his calculations. The Golden Man helped people. But he could try to solve a danger involving three lives while ten millions were dying at the same moment with far graver consequences."

This looked...awful, Psamtic had to admit. Assuming it was not another lie, the Golden Man had capacities on par with the Emperor. But even the Master of Mankind had showed more consideration to humanity than that.

"The best and brightest of humanity died one by one. The monsters - the Endbringers - ravaged at regular intervals the greatest cities and brought division, restricted resources and provoked refugee crises that no government could deal with."

The stranger paused.

"And then?" Asked impatiently the red-armoured Astartes.

"Then Tzeentch intervened."

Psamtic did his best not to groan in consternation. Of course the God of Liars and Change was to be involved somewhere.

"What did the Architect of Fate want?" He asked, preparing himself for the worst.

"A parahuman."

"The Golden Man?"

A burst of laughter came from the mouth of the traveller.

"No. Not him. Powerful enough but no mental flexibility or any kind of strategic thinking. No, he took a girl who had the power to control insects."

This...Psamtic would have dearly wanted to scream it was another lie but it sounded like something Tzeentch would do.

"What would one of the Four choose someone wielding a weak power like this?"

"Weak?" The amusement was so evident in the mysterious figure's voice it was impossible to miss. "Total control of any insects in her range isn't exactly a weak power. Imagine what she could have done to your Legion if she had the Naxorian Bees in her arsenal."

Psamtic could not avoid a large grimace. The Compliance of Naxoria had fallen to the Second Fellowship so he hadn't personally been there, but the reports of the survivors had reported it as a very nasty affair. A lost expedition of Mars had somewhat managed to manipulate insect DNA with a local carnivorous species and the result had been an Astartes-sized yellow insect with a sting, fangs and claws able to pierce the adamantium of their battle-armours. Worse, these things had been immune to most of the Legion's psionic abilities. One hundred and fifty Legionaries had been lost along with thirty thousand Imperial Army troops before compliance was finally accomplished. And Naxoria had been only a small moon with relatively little ground to conquer and the Bees had not been particularly intelligent. With a human having the ability to control these things...

"These Bees were wiped out. The Legion made sure of this."

"Congratulations. But I doubt you would be able to kill every insect species living in this galaxy."

The stranger had a good point. But that didn't mean Psamtic had not seen far more useful and powerful powers wielded by First Captain Ahriman and the sorcerers of his own Legion. And he left aside Magnus the Red, who was a law unto himself.

"What kind of danger can this girl represents?"

The figure simply nodded.

"An interesting question, indeed. What can the Last Daughter of Earth can do?"

This conversation was taking a more and more frustrating turn for him. The former member of the Pyrae Cult had the urge to set this impertinent on fire and teach him a lesson...but he had the feeling this thing wasn't inflammable.

"And the answer is?"

"She can save or damn us all. Weaver could be the greatest Hero of the Imperium. Khepri could be our greatest and final mistake."

The sentence had been delivered in a flat, deadly serious tone. One the Thousands Son would never have believed their author to believe. But Children or the Warp of not, there had to be a reason why the alien spoke like this. Something in his words must be the clue to the enigma. And after a few seconds of deep thinking he found it.

"It is the Golden Man, isn't it? He was not the first parahuman. He was their creator."

"Very astute observation." Psamtic Mehhur almost beamed before his interlocutor made another snide remark. "For an Astartes."

The red-armoured transhuman gritted his teeth. For the stranger's sake, he really hoped he could take a beating because he was going to give him one at the end of this conversation.

"The Golden Man was never a human. He was the avatar on this Earth of a powerful entity able to cross the dimensions at will and which used millions of shards to protect and empower itself. Each shard was a power. By giving the weakest to humans near oblivion, this species conducted grand experiments on planetary scale and understood better their own powers."

"This doesn't make a lot of sense, though." Psamtic remarked. "I mean, the xenos who presented itself as the Golden Man did not look like he had a long-term strategy."

"Because usually these entities travel in pairs. One Warrior. One Thinker. But the Thinker died on another version of this Earth due to a freak accident, leaving the Warrior alone here. Thus the shards were given randomly across the world and their results left unstudied."

The muscle left alone on a world where it was the equivalent of a God but without the initiative or the mind to play the role. Yes, he could very well recognise the magnitude of the problem.

"What happened when Chaos...spirited away the parahuman?"

The similarity between the eighteen Primarchs being dispersed across the galaxy before the Great Crusade did not escape him.

"The entity went on a berserker rampage across Earth." A sigh escaped immaterial lips. "You have to understand that after each parahuman's death, the entity recovers all the shards plus newly formed ones. It is a closed cycle. Each shard, each power is an energy manipulation loan the entity let the parahuman contractor borrow for an undetermined period of time. Nonetheless, it will recover it in the end."

"But not here."

"But not here. The Demons of Change are extremely skilled at covering their traces and when the entity realised what had happened it was far too late. It had lost a part of itself, no matter how tiny it was. And for the first time since it had lost its partner, it stopped grieving. It wanted something to pay for the theft, but the guilty party wasn't here. So humanity would have to do."

The shadowy figure sighed again and observed the stars for a long moment.

"They called it the Gold Morning. For six days, the entity went on like an unstoppable genocide machine on several dimensions. Billions died. The parahumans, the governments, the militaries...every group tried to stop the being they had considered their greatest hero. One by one they failed. Tectonic plaques were broken. Entire countries were razed and cultures were extinguished. Until a last-ditch plan was launched and ultimately it was slain across the dimensions forever."

The lone Astartes felt a point of envy towards these long-gone humans. Like the Thousands Sons at Tizca, they had fought against those determined to bring them down. Unlike the Fifteenth Legion, they had managed to kill their enemy. Prospero defenders had never managed to exact their retribution. Against their father, who had dismantled the orbital defences and send away their fleet in the hope his martyrdom would be sufficiently grandiose. Against the Emperor, who had ignored their accomplishments and casted them aside at Nikaea. Against the treacherous Horus, who had transformed the initial order from capture to ruthless annihilation. Against the Space Wolves, the barbaric Legion they had failed to slain in the ruins of their homes.

"But this Earth never managed to rebuild." Psamtic knew it was a lame comment, thank you very much. But if what his informer told was the truth...then a life-eater virus comparison might have not been so bad a comparison for what had really happened to this planet.

"There weren't that many living left when the final battle was over." Was the bleak assessment. "A few parahumans organised mass exiles to other dimensions. But once the fighting was over, there was little reason to come back save pillaging the resources of a dead world."

There was little to say against this decision. The Thousands Sons too avoided visiting the ruins of Tizca which had brought them to the Planet of Sorcerers. But it brought an interesting question to his mind.

"How do you know all of this? The inhabitants of this planet are long gone. Their libraries and other data vaults are reduced to dust. I have not exactly searched every city on this world but I do not think they will be in a better state than this one."

"I have my ways." Was the very vague reply.

"Then could you ask the question how I came upon this planet?" He asked impatiently.

"Of course." The new bow the figure addressed to him was definitely a mocking one. "You were one of the many Astartes of your Legion to be consumed by the Rubric of your First Captain. Like many Astartes with a weak psionic talent, you were trapped without a body in your battle-armour, reduced to dust and forced to endure an endless agony while the most powerful of your sorcerers took control and saw their powers multiplied ten times. They became masters of the Warp and you...well, you became puppets for their grand plans."

"Ahriman would never have tolerated this."

"I'm afraid your First Captain was exiled following his catastrophic Rubric experiment. But you're correct, he still err among the stars, trying to correct his greatest mistake. Not that his Chaos patron in the Warp will ever let him succeed.

You Psamtic on the other hand, were to be a pawn in the Demons of Fate's plans. The start of a dark web which would have ensnared entire Sectors and replaced the rule of the Imperium by something far, far worse."

"What have you done?" Harshly demanded the Legionary. If there was anything the Heresy had told the Fifteenth and the rest of the Astartes armies, it was that those who dared challenged the powers of the Immaterium had in general an eternity of agony to regret their audacity. But the figure didn't look concerned.

"I've brought you here and liberated your soul."

"Impossible." The words were on his lips by pure reflex. "Magnus had damned us all in his bargains with the Warp."

"Not exactly." Was it his imagination or the robed stranger looked more real by the second? A sort of faint golden glow was now surrounding him. "Magnus was betrayed at every turn by Tzeentch and the Rubric further complicated things. Sometimes, the Demons of Change are too clever for their own good and neglected a few details. From the moment you soul was trapped in this armour, past allegiances were somewhat muted. Needless to say they hoped to rebuild these chains the moment the Rubric was breached, but they were overconfident and weren't prepared for our intervention."

Psamtic didn't know what to say. Given his knowledge of the aetheric field, what the stranger told made some sense...in theory. In practise, if you hadn't the skill and the power to back it up, the best thing which would happen to you was the live dissection of your body in the Sea of Souls. No Primarch, no psyker had ever had claimed this type of power for himself.

"Who are you? Who in the name of dead Prospero are you?"

The figure advanced one step. The details of the apparition became clearer. The 'traveller' was covered from head to toe in a long light-brown robe which was just one or two shades darker than the sand surrounding the pyramid. A long sceptre was in his right hand, and the head of the white and black stone was decorated by a great double-headed golden eagle burning in golden fire. Grey-silver hairs were still visible thanks to the slight golden aura, as was a noble and patient face which had once been known and celebrated on a million of worlds.

But it was impossible. Utterly impossible. The Order who had worn these robes had fallen in obscurity with the Age of Strife and their last member had died in the last moments of the Siege of Terra. A great sacrifice made to give a chance for the defenders a last chance of victory. A feat no human would ever be able to replicate in millennia.

"You can't be here. You are dead."

Ancient eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Rumours of my death are greatly exaggerated." Seeing his interlocutor's bewildered eyes, the robed figure burst in laughter. "I always wanted to say it."

"My lord..." The Thousands Son Legionary bent the knee. "My life is yours to take. I betrayed my Oath and am ready to atone for my past actions."

"If I desired to smite you down, did you really think I would have brought you to this world?" Answered gently his saviour. "No, your death at my hands would not serve humanity. I have a mission in mind for you. Interested?"

"Command." Psamtic said, striking his fist above his heart.

"Rise."

The robed figure turned and began to descend the pyramid at a rapid pace, and Psamtic followed on his heels.

"Tell me, do you have heard of my Knights-Errant?"

The term was familiar, yes. Assuming the whispers of the Warp and the officers were right, it was a brotherhood of Loyalist and Traitor Legionaries having renounced their allegiance to serve directly...Him.

Surely the psyker in front of him didn't suggest?

"There were certain... rumours towards the end of the Siege, my lord."

"Good!" Declared enthusiastically the old man – although did age really counted if you were dead? "Good! In this case consider your mission as a trial to see if you're worthy of joining their ranks."

Psamtic had not the time to ask who the 'they' referred to as they reached the sands surrounding the pyramid. Once again someone had materialised next to him. But while the first figure still chose to appear in a brown robe and a half-intangible state, the woman in front of him was firmly anchored in the material realm.

Her attire was strange however. An Astartes could not pretend be aware of the latest fashion trends, but he was reasonably sure the tailored black suit, the white tie and the white shirt had not been worn for formal occasions since a few millennia. The black hair and the pale skin were somewhat attractive, too bad the stern expression discouraged the usual greetings and pleasantries.

But then he met the pure blue eyes and for the first time on this world Psamtic truly knew fear. It was nothing the woman had said or done...but he knew intimately that if she wanted him dead, the only question would be in how many pieces his transhuman body would be after the massacre.

"This is Contessa. She is going with you."

"Door to Aurelia." Said the woman in a Low Gothic that had no discernable accent.

There was no shimmer or resonance in the Warp, but the strange woman had apparently no need of aetheric talents. A window to another plane had just opened and the mysterious 'Contessa' passed its threshold.

"For good or worse, the Weaver Option must continue." Declared the being who once had led the Imperium in the greatest civil war humanity had ever fought. "Remember that failure is not an option."

Psamtic Mehhur felt suddenly many feelings inside his two hearts he had thought lost and forgotten buried across thousands of battlefields. Pride. Regret. Sadness.

But he had a second chance and this was more than the majority of the Fallen Legions had received. If there was a single chance he might erase his sins and those of the Fifteenth Legion, he would do it.

"I will not fail my lord. For the Emperor."


	9. Peril 2-1 Inquisition War

**Peril 2.1**

 **Inquisition War**

 _By the Imperium sacred laws, the word of a man bearing the Inquisitorial rosette must be ordered like it comes from the mouth of the Emperor Himself. There is no limit to the power an Inquisitor can wield: Admirals commanding thousands of warships, Cardinals having converted hundreds of lost human cultures and Lords of the Adeptus Terra are known to obey the Holy Order of the Inquisition without reservation._

 _With this kind of authority at his disposition, one would expect any Inquisitor to face little opposition from local authorities, whether they are civilians or military. In truth, cooperation is generally far from assured. Not only the work of an Inquisitor is as likely to save an inhabited planet as reducing it to a rock devoid of life, the actions of the Ordo are often skirting the line between dubious loyalty and outright heresy. No wonder then tales of Inquisitor tend to be frightful things terrorising old and young, veterans and ignorant..._

From _The Limits of the Inquisition's power_ by Thomar Darkor, 631M33. The author was declared Hereticus and executed the day after the publication of his work.

" _Don't worry General. The Fay 20_ _th_ _has a...history with the Inquisition. By the time we depart, everything will have been settled_." Colonel Aslevev, 110M38.

 _Innocence proves nothing_.

Unofficial motto of the Holy Order of the Inquisition.

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Moros Sub-Sector**

 **Fay System**

 **Planet Fay III**

 **7.204.289M35**

Thought for the day: Never fear death. Fear the consequences of your actions beforehand.

 **Major Taylor Hebert**

The starport of Fay was an extremely noisy place which had never heard about thing like noise pollution limits - or pollution limits at all to say the truth. The racket was so loud that having earmuffs protecting the ears and several walls between them and the source of the din was not sufficient. Most of the orders and commands between officers were shouted, screamed or pronounced with curious future-like megaphones.

And Taylor herself was no exception to this.

"Why does it take so long to charge this bloody Chimera?" She bellowed, feigning not to notice how a squad of the Sixth Company almost went on their knees when the recruits saw she was shouting at them.

"I apologise, Major." Taylor turned her head to watch Captain Eldyev of Sixth Company march in long strides towards the problematic Chimera and the large lander it had half-entered before stopping and causing a huge military traffic jam. "The squads have had too little time training with their mounts. I will rectify this immediately."

"Apologies accepted." Sighed Weaver before ordering the soldiers waiting near the lander. It wasn't like shouting at the guilty squad would make things better, by the expression on their faces they were well aware they had screwed up. "Pull off the Chimera out of the waiting line. We will charge it later."

Personally she didn't see what the problem was. She had been far too young to pass her driving licence on Earth Bet and yet she had managed to catch the basics of Chimera-driving easily. The Imperium to say the truth had a lot of advanced machines purposely built for people with...low-levels of intelligence, if one wanted to stay polite.

Unfortunately, the new recruits were often only a couple of years older than her – Earth and Fay had roughly the same number of days per year – and they had never played video games with Alec or had the basic principle explained to them by someone driving illegally – Taylor would have to thank Lisa if she saw her again. The Fay 20th had also been until their last victory a Mechanised Infantry Regiment without Mechanics – in practise it had been an Infantry Regiment and everyone knew it. Now that they had the machines, they could train with it but their second-in-command was realist: the training was going to be long and difficult.

"The Mechanicus cogboys are not going to like it." Told her Lieutenant Arav while consulting the large digi-scroll in his hands. Two days ago, the young blonde-haired soldier had become somewhat part of her staff. Somewhat because with the rapidity of the deployment demanded by higher authorities in the Guard, the paperwork had reached new peaks of complexity and mass...there was simply no way to do the job and fill all the papers. All the officer corps of the Fay 20th – who in majority had been promoted the same day she was – faced the same problem. As a result, the six guardsmen and the officer she had picked from the thousands of Fay soldiers were not totally affiliated under her. Not that it was a problem as only the Colonel and the Regimental Officer could countermand her orders and neither Larkine nor Zuhev were that petty. And she had a feeling this was only the start.

"Send another message through the vox, then. Apologies for the inconvenience to Tech-Priest Enginseer Morkys and the Tech-Priest in charge of unloading this lander, we promise to do our best to resolve the problem and ensure there will be no further issues."

"This is the fifth time today, Major."

"And I think it won't be the last."

Taylor looked at the vast buildings decorated with the double-eagle of the Imperium and the various skulls of the Mechanicus. Unlike those she had seen before this in the heart of Great Landing, they were bulky and ugly. A starport apparently was always considered a crucial location on any world of the Imperium of Mankind and it was defended in consequence. The dozens of landers, transports, space fighters, ore miners which were rising or descending in the skies were diligently watched by several anti-air batteries and guns. After what the orks had almost managed to do, no one was taking any chance with the security of the capital.

Half a minute later the Chimera which had blocked the way of the mobilisation had been pushed away, the recruits duly reprimanded – no, the Commissars were not going to shoot them, Taylor had learned rapidly latrine duty was a favourite of the skulled caps – five more Chimeras were loaded and the lander slowly lighted its engines to commence its long ascent to the _Magos Laurentis_ in orbit.

"One more loaded, a hundred to go. What's next?"

"Err...the promethium stocks but they might be a bit late. The Second Company is ready though, Major."

Taylor nodded automatically before switching the frequency on her comm-bead and informing Captain Tanya Sevrev of the Second Company she was up next once the Mechanicus lander would land in thirty-eight minutes. If there wasn't another modification to their already hugely modified schedule. Lasgun cells, machine parts, Chimeras, Sentinels, traditional Fay food, water...the needs of an Imperial Guard regiment were enormous. Especially because they didn't know the length of their deployment. Best case, they would go to the Wuhan System, resolve the matter which had the sinister and dread Inquisition concerned, and return to garrison duties on Fay before this year was over. Worst possibility, they would never see this world again and begin a campaign of decades.

Her experience as a warlord of Brockton Bay – to be honest, the PRT had been right to call her on that one – had not prepared her fully for this. In the post-Leviathan months, the Undersiders had needed water, food, guns and electricity. But they had been less than ten super-villains, a hundred mercenaries and thousands civilians combined in the same part of the city. The needs of a military organisation travelling on different worlds were far greater. As a consolation, she was still one of the most experienced people the regiment had on hand. Usually the Navy handled everything...and the Fay 20th had not that many long serving veterans specialised in regiments loading and unloading.

The hours passed and the sun finally descended in the west. Two-thirds of the regiment had left Fay, according to Colonel Larkine they were beating all the records – though the constant modifications had made a considerable number of Tech-Priests unhappy on the vox. After a few minutes of logistics dealing, Taylor and the guardsmen in her staff at last went to a nearby building which was serving as the temporary mess hall for the regiment.

Three digital codes, an identity scan later and two bland corridors, they were finally allowed to serve themselves a well-deserved meal. A fine mountain gazelle steak – nothing in common with the animal of Earth, this gazelle was looking like a cross between a cow and a hippopotamus – with some local vegetables having the taste of carrots and a large pie mixed with a sort of pear-smelling fruit. According to the oldest soldiers, they may as well savour it: the rations which would be served once the Fay supplies were eaten would be extremely foul.

The mess hall was a blank and empty room with dull tables and chairs with only the double-eagle to alleviate the boredom. It was also almost empty since a good part of the men and women had already left this world for the starship of Magos Explorator Lankovar. Taylor was honest when she told she couldn't wait to join them. Not only it would stop the flux of incoming logistics issues, the former supervillain known as Skitter was impatient to see the stars. On Earth bet the Simurgh had wiped out the Moon base and generally killed everyone trying to establish extra-terrestrial constructions. Demand for astronauts had been non-existent by 2011 and thousands of people had complained daily on PHO how the Endbringer had killed what should have been humanity's future. To be allowed to see a planet from above...Taylor couldn't wait to see it with her own eyes.

Meals were far more pleasant affairs than they had been at Winslow that was for sure. This time there was no Terrible Trio to torment her and most of the soldiers who had fought with her the orks were good conversationalists. The Imperium of Mankind was not and would never be a democracy – the parahuman had not liked how certain things like 'human rights' and 'liberty of expression' were outright trampled every day – but the people of this planet still dreamed, hoped, jokes, fought and made plans for the future. Thousands years after having departed Earth humanity had not evolved to a completely unrecognisable state. Taylor could not say she had friends for the present; the combination of her powers and being thrown in a position of command without warning had prevented immediate bonds from forming. Nevertheless she made efforts for her staff and the Companies under her charge to trust her...that had to count for something.

While they ate Lieutenant Vladisluvius Arav (her chief of staff refused most of the time to answer his first name to the entire regiment's amusement) was in front of her, chatting with Sergeant Alya Sevrov, Taylor's sword expert. The brown-haired eighteen years old guardswoman had trained with blades for the better part of her childhood and had begun teaching her the ways of the sword. To Taylor's great embarrassment, her first experience with a chainsword against the orks had been a huge fluke and it was 'a miracle of the God-Emperor' she had not cut her own head with it. Weaver was a good markswoman with the lasgun on the firing range, but for close-combat she did not even figure in the top thousand of the Fay 20th.

The rest of her staff savouring the gazelle meat was eating on her right and left respectively. Trooper Siguruv Tessev, a scar-covered veteran with no hair on his head, had been with the regiment since its foundation, had participated in all the battles against the orks and was now serving as her personal vox-operator. Trooper Alex Dev had far less experience, he had been assigned to the Fay 8th of the Guard and fought at the Second Battle of Ramev's Pass, but he had managed to give first-aid to dozens of his own comrades while they were assaulted by the greenskins. Taylor had arranged for him a formation with the Medical Company. In her best moments, the native of Brockton Bay which had required the services of all the parahuman-healers of the Protectorate tried to convince herself she would not need it.

 _Well, I can always dream, can't I_?

The work and the dinner over, the conversations started with three troopers of the First Company which had arrived in the hall minutes before. The Adeptus Mechanicus was the main subject of the conversation, a fact not surprising at all. The 'cogboys', as everyone called them when none were close by, were mysterious and tight-lipped about their goals...which makes their offer to transport the regiment to Wuhan all the more surprising. The average Magos and the Tech-Priests were not known for their generosity among the classes of the Imperium. Taylor had her own idea on the question...but then everyone did at the table. In mere hours the knowledge of Lankovar 'studies' with the orks had spread through the ranks of the Imperial Guard and the Planetary Defence Forces. The rumours which had come after that were horrifying, ridiculous or both. The Priests of the God-Machine were trying to figure if the orks were going to function once the Tech-Priests had replaced their blood by oil. The Magos wanted to teach an ork how to count to twenty – or to speak High Gothic, the M35-derived version of Latin, the audience was not too sure on which one. Tessev was inventing a story where orks had been converted into fuel supplies when Colonel Daviev Larkine and Commissar Zuhev accompanied by the rest of their staff arrived for their own dinner.

The laughs and the pleasantries diminished in intensity like someone had pushed a button. There were only six Commissars for five thousand and three hundred-plus guardswomen and guardsmen in the entire regiment, but their ominous presence did not give good vibes. However, for once the discipline officers were not the source of the consternation. The SS look-alike had ceded this 'honour' to the last man. A person who did not wear the gray-black of the Fay Imperial Guard regiments, the deep black of the Commissariat, the gray blue of the PDF or the gray with stripes of silvers and gold of the System Defence Fleet.

No, the newcomer was wearing white robes trimmed with deep red, colours of the Ecclesiarchy.

"Oh, frag." Grumbled one of the First Company troopers. Unlike the majority of the troopers which were cleanly shaven, the veteran sprouted a long and black one, making him look like one of those military dictators which were running their countries as drug-lords or banana republics. "We have a new Priest."

"The last one got eaten by the orks at Petersburg, no?" Evidently, Alya Sevrov had heard the whispers Taylor had.

"The Sixth got a lot of flak from the Commissars for that." By the expression of Tessev, whatever blame and recrimination the Fay troopers had received from this incident had been worth it.

Personally, Taylor had to agree with this affirmation if the two Priests were similar. The Preachers of the God-Emperor were supposed to boost the resolve and the faith of the troops. When she had been informed of their existence, the bug-controller of Earth Bet had had in mind the image of raging fanatics holding a burning torch in one hand and a sword in the other. Image which may have been put in her mind by the multiple leaflets and propaganda advertisements stuck everywhere on the street walls.

The Priest in front of her eyes wasn't like this, or at least if he was he was hiding it very well. A lot of parchments were stuck on his chest along with a sort of book-necklace but it wasn't enough to hide his large belly. Nor was the sort of cassock upon his head enough to stop watching fat lips, fat cheeks, great ears and blonde-orange hairs. Most of the Fay population was Caucasian and not unpleasant to look at. This obese religious affiliate was ugly as sin. And the shiny eagles in gold were not that imposing when by general assent the Priest should benefit being pursued by Bitch dogs. That way he should lose some weight and the God-Emperor would approve, right?

A quick conversation with the Colonel to make sure that the landings were still on schedule and the heroine of Fay left the hall –despite her best efforts to avoid the title she was presented like as such in uncountable vids, hololiths announces and the news all over the planet.

"Do you think it's the Governor's way to get rid of Byukur supporters?" Lieutenant Arav was not fully comfortable and his new superior understood why. The blonde-haired scion was coming from a moderately rich family of the aristocracy, which like many others was collapsing under the new management imposed by Governor Ilvyna Dalten.

"How should I know?" Answered back the current major of the Fay 20th as they left the hall and went back to the part of the starport the last orbital landers awaited. The night had fallen but powerful blue and white lights made sure the darkness wasn't a problem. "I'm not in the confidence our new Governor...assuming she has someone in her confidence of the late administration." Which was somewhat unlikely to say the least. Taylor had met the woman and the former Major Dalten had not been someone fearful at the idea of cleaning the corrupt house of the 'Exalted-Governor'. If more proofs were demanded, hundreds officers had already been demoted and the formation of the Fay 21st had already commenced, the disgraced officers of the PDF forming its core.

"You spoke with her yesterday." Reminded the young noble who was three years older than her.

"For the foundation of the new Klux Zubrov Orphanage." Weaver corrected her chief of staff. No matter how necessary it had been to sacrifice half a regiment to win, the consequence had been a lot of Fay soldiers dead and the young Major thought extremely unlikely all of them had been volunteers to charge in the jaws of deaths. Since she had money now, their children would not be forced to beg in the streets and form their own gangs. "Not for politics." Given how...permanent those could be in the Imperium, it was best to stay away very far from them. The PRT wasn't that scary when compared to the Administratum and the Arbites, ultimate paper-crushers and super-judges.

One more hour of work and two landers rose in the skies before the last bureaucratic nonsense was dealt with and thankfully it was their turn. Since she was a senior officer – by regimental standards – Taylor and her staff had an orbital transport which looked very well armed. Several lascannons were on the sides and one was on the dorsal section of the flying vessel. Any enemy trying to intercept and expect a slow and large victim would have a nasty surprise.

Taylor stopped once as she climbed the ramp of the lander. Seeing a last time the planet fate and maybe a human God had conspired to teleport her to. She did not really enjoy her time in the capital. Corruption was rife, social inequalities made those of Brockton Bay laughable...yes, Fay was not a shining example of liberty and fraternity. But it would get better. She hoped.

"Farewell, Fay. We will come back."

Whatever weight this sentence might have carried, Tessev's reply behind her broke its momentum.

"I agree Major, but in how many coffins?"

There was a series of chuckles and then the men and the women embarked. Old-fashioned security harnesses were buckled, the engines roared and the lander left Fay. The climbing was not very funny to endure. At one point or another in a library Taylor had read the considerable pressures which were exercised on the human body but feeling it was an experience altogether. All told the two next hours were outstanding...if you liked being stuck to your seat and demanding yourself if your bones were going to break under the pressure.

Suddenly it was over. The flyer had escaped the gravity well of the planet and the heavy acceleration they had sustained was no longer unbearable. The magnetic equipment activated on its own, preventing guardswomen, guardsmen and their equipment to float inside the hull. Contacting the pilot and having the confirmation everything had proceeded without any issues, she marched to one of the two windows in whatever future-glass material had been installed.

The view was extraordinary.

The planet they had just left was a great orb of blue, green and white. It was beautiful. The lights in the night showed where the great cities were, but Fay had not been settled like Earth in 2011. Most of the constructions and facilities were close to the capital of Great Landing. The blue of the oceans was the purest azure and the mountain range on the second continental mass looked of the purest white, in addition to its size challenging the Himalayas.

Around this celestial picture many photographers would have sold their entire earnings to take a cliché, there were numerous ships. The bulky and unsightly forms of the mining vessels, pleasure ships the elite of Fay had built while the Exalted Overlord was busy becoming fatter than he was tall, military ships with large prows decorated of the Imperium double-eagle. Even in space, it seemed the decorators were following the same guidelines.

And then there was the _Magos Laurentis_. Bigger than each of the Fay starships, the Mechanicus hull was impossibly big. As the kilometres between their lander and their destination decreased, the property of the Magos was more and more impressive. The Colonel had told her yesterday many warships could land on ground-based starports if emergency repairs or evacuation protocols demanded it. One glance was enough to see the _Magos Laurentis_ could not imitate them. It was a mountain of metal, bearing the familiar white and black skull on its central section and its name in red letters. The decorations were almost inexistent... but then the number of cannons and the dozens of scars visible to the naked eye told everyone this was a starship built to survive the enemies of humanity, not for frivolous purposes.

"It was almost worth volunteering for Endbringer fights to see this..."

* * *

 **Magos Desmerius Lankovar**

Precisely two seconds ago, the multiple servo-skulls had recorded the image of one of his experimentation labs in one of the most heavily secured parts of his ship. There had been two servitors in that room he had controlled via his implants, a colony of insects, the parahuman clone he had just created and the last ork specimens he had yet to find an utility for.

It had been the eleventh trial to study the effects of the mysterious 'trigger' transforming non-augmented humans into parahumans in a controlled environment. Large quantities of immobilising foams had been stocked around the compartment. Stasis fields and a full maniple had surrounded it. More precautions than he honestly could be bothered to count had been taken for this experiment which could prove a game-changer for the future of mankind and of course the Mechanicus.

"Experiment 1-A011 is...a failure." Despite the fact he had gotten rid of the weaknesses of the flesh a long time ago, the Magos could not prevent a tremor from appearing in his cant.

The compartment had been reduced to a slaughterhouse. That was the information which arrived to his implants had least. The foam had flooded the room, but unleashing it had only compounded the failure. The 'trigger' had been extremely brutal. Desmerius Lankovar had not expected a class-8 anti-psionic explosion assorted with a shockwave, but the precautions could have handled it.

The swarm of insects which had followed out of the orks corpses however had been a far more dangerous event and one which had driven him to foam the room with a powerful insecticide mixed with diverse chemicals of his own invention. He had not been able to assess the full capabilities of said insects, but since they had consumed the servitor he was controlling in less time it took to say it, the Magos Explorator knew they were extreme.

Even more concerning – if it was possible – the neural connections of the cloned parahuman had been overwhelmed and the implants he had installed had failed towards the end. It seemed Taylor Hebert had not exaggerated in her meetings when she had described the process as excruciating as a true agony. If anything, the young Major of the Guard coming from a long-past millennium seemed to have understated it.

"Should we pass to Experiment 1-A012?" Asked Alena Wismer, her mechadendrites already swirling with data to begin the decontamination procedures.

"No." Lankovar's thirst for discovery and science in the name of the Omnissiah wasn't that great. The first experiment had nearly destroyed one of the experimentation rooms; there was no telling what the second would do. "Not until we understand better how this 'Corona Pollentia' functions."

The Magos could firmly admit he had dabbled in things which were taboo among the ranks of the servitors of the God-Machine. Augmented beyond non-Mechanicus personnel comprehension, he was able to think faster and on different dimensions. But for the love of the Omnissiah, he didn't see how this mutation could produce anything but abominations. The parahuman they had taken the blood samples from had suffered a 'trigger' in M3. A period of history the Immaterium and the different dimensions had to be far calmer than the days they were living. The reports of that period indicated hundreds of parahumans had turned insane and uncontrollable. The remaining servo-skulls showing the corpse of the clone in all its macabre glory allowed him to estimate the new parahumans would according to all projections be worse.

"You intend to monitor Major Hebert skills on the battlefield then?"

"It is the logical path to thread." Desmerius Lankovar wasn't exactly completely honest. It was the only path they could live with. The moment another Forge-World other than Stygies VIII caught wind of the existence of a 'parahuman', the fallout would be incredible and a new Mechanicus civil war, no another Mechanicus civil war, would commence. He wasn't going to inform Mars of his discoveries. His life belonged to the Omnissiah, but he was a Xenarite, not a mad heretek no matter how many thousands of senior Adepts believed the contrary. Creating clone after clone and seeing them destroy his servitors wasn't useful and cost valuable resources. "The armour we gave her will allow me to study her mental impulses, how her abilities affect her body and a lot of information we currently lack."

This new cant was accompanied by an intense binary stream to his Questor. After decades aboard the _Magos Laurentis_ , there was very little he didn't reveal to his second-in-command. Reliability on each other was paramount when their starship explored the unknown and that they had saved each other's lives multiple times had increased their cooperation.

"I see what you plan Magos. But if we intend to pursue this strategy, may I suggest giving Major Hebert a more dangerous insect to control? All our investigations on Fay agree she did a masterful job with only flea-vampires and super-hornets. But if she is to deal with the Inquisition, these insects will lack flexibility."

Columns of data danced in Desmerius' brain and implanted cogitators as he replayed different scenes of the battles recorded by servo-skulls on Fay.

"The stock of versatile insects we have in our collection is small." After all, absent a parahuman able to control insects he had never considered stocking tons of chitin and their DNA aboard except when the species in question had interesting sequences which may be of significant importance. Since he had departed the patronage of Arch-Magos Dorville, Lankovar was reduced to a single ship and this meant not bringing aboard everything which might crawl under your metallic skin. And insects had a bad tendency to escape and breed in the deserted sections of a starship. Better to avoid that at all costs. "And I won't release something like the Ondu Terror on a Hive World until the loyalty of 'Weaver' to our cause has been proven beyond doubt."

"Of course, Magos, I wasn't going to imply otherwise." The green augmented eyes of Wismer were shining of an offended expression that he could have thought such a ridiculous idea. "But we have more docile species available and unlike the Ondu Terror, we can sterilise them beforehand."

"It seems to me you have already a candidate in mind."

"I have. The white razorbeetle."

Desmerius Lankovar activated the mechadendrites in his command sceptre and let them access the relevant data cells. The image of an unfamiliar insect was revealed. In size, it was no bigger than a human's finger and had a sickly white colour. In appearance, it looked like one of those beetles which existed on tens of thousands Imperial worlds. A local species of the Zapata System, the white razorbeetle had been offered to a Tech-Priest he had just saved the career and the life from a charge of Ork warriors.

"We bred a few hundred for study." Explained the female Questor as her superior read the imposing file which was a library on its own right. "Their wings and bites are terribly sharp."

'Terribly sharp' was somewhat accurate acknowledged Lankovar as he assimilated the immense data-stacks. The studies made on the razorbeetles had proven they could bite and damage a small layer of plasteel in seconds. In sufficient numbers and given enough time, the bugs could even pierce high-quality ceramite. More interesting, the wounds they caused to a living being injected a paralytic fluid in the veins of the victim too. Many bites – this meant more than five – and anything from a grox to a human dropped dead. Oh yes, all these insects would be sterilised once they reached maturity.

"Your proposition has merits." Agreed finally the Master of the _Magos Laurentis_ , stopping the flow of data and establishing a connection to the bridge of the starship as the time before their departure grew imminent. "But organise a session for Major Hebert to see if the white razorbeetles perform to expectations."

"It will be done." Though by the data they exchanged, Alena Wismer had the certainty there would be no problems. For the time being, Taylor Hebert's powers had proven absolute in their control of insects. The razorbeetle was not going to be the exception.

"Onto other matters. You said you found a way to make our jump packs lighter and with greater endurance?"

"The lack of electromagnetic shielding of the M3 archeotech has proved frustrating but its circuits have given us many connections with incomplete STC data found in Segmentum Tempestus fifteen hundred years ago." Alena could not hide the excitement in her voice. "I would have loved meeting this 'Tinker Dragon', truly a remarkable woman worthy to be one of the Omnissiah's chosen..."

"How light and more autonomy are we speaking about?" Cut Desmerius. As much as he loved hearing Wismer praise the Omnissiah and the sacred blessings of the forge, they had both duties they must return to.

"Simulations and the modifications we have added to Major Hebert's original are all we have, but the diminution in weight is estimated to be between 1.104 and 1.327 kilograms. The autonomy augmentation is more problematic, but a minimum of sixteen minutes can be promised."

"You have checked the numbers?" His second nodded once, communicating a fascinating model of jump pack which shone with the promises of the Machine-God. "Praise the Omnissiah!"

Such a discovery alone would be recognised as a major achievement at Stygies VIII. The resupplies and help he had been promised decades ago would have been sent in exchange of a new model of jump pack; with a more efficient one, blood samples from the origin of humanity and cultural information from M3 Earth his promotion to Arch-Magos may be possible.

"Thank you Omnissiah." After so many failures in the Eastern Fringe the Magos had almost ceded to despair. And at the moment he was beginning to return home, Desmerius Lankovar had made the greatest discovery of his life. "Ave Deus Mechanicus!"

* * *

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Moros Sub-Sector**

 **Wuhan system**

 **Wuhan II**

 **7.240.289M35**

 **Inquisitor Colin Steadham**

The body of Governor Chen Cao had still an expression of deep surprise on its face when it collapsed on the six hundred years old light-blue carpet.

Inquisitor Colin Steadham did not shed a tear nor spent the quarter of a second mourning him. The Governor had been a useful tool, but hardly an irreplaceable one. The Master of Wuhan Secundus and Hive Chao-Lai had followed him in the first place because his cherished daughter was aboard the _Fidelis Servus_ , Black Ship of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica which would soon depart for Terra. He had hardly been a devoted follower or competent at what he did. Besides, there were far more important things at stake here.

Things like the life of one Inquisitor Colin Steadham. Drawing his plasma pistol from beyond his cloak, the member of the Holy Ordos shot the Arco-Flagellant rushing at him in the head, reducing this part of the body to bloody mist. A second Arco-Flagellant tried to charge behind the first, only to be slain in the same manner.

The rest of the battlefield-throne room was a scene of carnage where his Acolytes, the spireborn nobility and their enemies killed each other. Well, the Acolytes and mercenaries of each side did the killing. Fat, obese and pathetic, the aristocracy of this Wuhan Hive had come to this unprecedented meeting between two Inquisitors with parade armours, parade weapons and generally the attitude of nobles having practised parade formations and the dances of their homeworld their entire life. Against a company worth of experienced killers, a hundred grox would have offered more resistance.

"In the name of the Inquisition, KILL THESE HERETICS!"

At the other side of the great throne room of Hive Asao, Inquisitor Morgaur Stradivarik was looking at him with undisguised hate. His chainsword was dripping of the blood of the Wuhan nobles he had just executed. His white robes had been strained with crimson and he held in his other hand a heavy book of prayers. Colin had to admit that his opponent-colleague cut a very imposing figure, Morgaur was nearly two metres tall and being surrounded by a crowd of pious fools didn't diminish at all.

A mass of Penitents, Acolytes, Hierophants and all the various lackeys the fanatic of Gathalamor had managed to gather under his mad guidance surged like an unstoppable tide, bloody chainswords, laspistols and lasguns held over their heads.

"Kill them." Hissed Steadham in his comm-bead, speaking with difficulty the language of the Tarellians.

From the alcoves and the upper arcades where they had waited immobile, the Dog-Soldiers opened fire with the lasguns he had given them. There was no hesitation, no mercy. The reptiles hated the Imperium, and they hated the sorts of fanatics employed by Stradivarik even more. It was the Ecclesiarchy and its Inquisitorial minions which had virus-bombed their world, after all.

The melee which had until that point seem to go the way of the Inquisitor facing him got a sudden change of fortune. Most of the nobles having assisted to this scene were dead and laid in several pieces on the floor, providing absolutely no protection against the combination of lasguns and disruptor rifles the Tarellians were shooting them with.

The Hierophants, the Arco-Flagellants and the Penitents did not retreat, beg or tried to form a new strategy. They simply charged ahead, firing all their weapons in the most disorganised manner. Disgusting. An Ork warboss might have terminated these misguided idiots for their lack of discipline and hitting as many enemies as they injured their own allies.

The problem lied in the numbers. Despite the initial toll taken by the ambush, the bands of Ecclesiarchy-brainwashed warriors closed the gaps, ignoring their huge losses. And once they came to close quarters, it started to get ugly. Uglier. His acolytes had inherited his long-range affinities – in the Ordo Xenos you learnt rapidly you didn't provoke an ork or another physically-evolved species to a contest of strength – and they were not many of them anyway.

"Fall back." Steadham grated, running towards the top of the stairs where a secret issue, two Tarellians and his last Acolyte waited for him. A command which sadly for his subordinates arrived a bit too late as a new wave of Gathalamorians Penitents attacked and most of his men perished under an imprecise but lethal volley shot by autoguns, lasguns and dart-launchers. Raging in his black beard at the priceless experience, Colin switched the frequency of his comm-bead to the secret one putting him in contact with the _Light of Intolerance_ in orbit. "Tur, send all the Tarellians we have to Hive Asao."

"But Inquisitor..."

"Now!" Shouted the Inquisitor, in a tone which tolerated no discussion.

"The orders have been given, Inquisitor." Replied after a few seconds the captain in a grumpy tone. " But I have to warn you the _Anvil of Persecution_ of Inquisitor Stradivarik is coming right at us...even with the cruiser of the Tarellians in support I don't think we will able to delay him more than a few hours."

"Then delay him." For the fourth time this day, Inquisitor Steadham regretted not having found a replacement to Captain Tur Qover. His predecessor had made the appointment just before getting himself killed by an eldar sniper and he had at that moment other priorities. "Other important things I should know?"

"The _Anvil of Persecution_ has launched its own landers. They have transmitted the information to the Imperial Command they contain several companies of a Penal Legion."

His patron gritted his teeth. A Penal Legion soldier was not something which would cause problems to the Tarellians one-on-one except he had come to Wuhan with only forty thousand of them. Doubtlessly the Penal Legion was going to outnumber them largely. His window of opportunity was closing fast as he and his paid bodyguards ran to the first elevator which would bring them to the lower levels of the Spire and then the Hive City. A second and a third would take them to the ground level. A fourth would be necessary to reach the Underhive. After that, they would have to walk and fight their way to their destination. "My orders stand. The Tarellians are to kill every human who tries to contest our work in Hive Asao except those bearing my mark. While you're at it, transmit to the System Defence Fleet and the Planetary Defence Force generals that we are loyal to the Golden Throne and have been betrayed by the Grand Heretic and False-Inquisitor Morgaur Stradivarik."

"Acknowledged..."

The next words of the Captain were lost when the usual buzzes and blips indicated a powerful jammer had been activated. Ignoring the strident battlecry in the distance, Colin Steadham entered the magnetic elevator. He did not allow himself a sigh of relief, not with a single Acolyte and two Tarellians to his side. Too many things had gone wrong today for him to let down his guard. Who would have thought his fellow Inquisitor was ready to massacre and slaughter his way through the Spire of a Hive World just to kill a single man? Truly it had been an error to include this fool in the Ordos Nyx. Colin wouldn't be surprised if others Inquisitors of the Sector had already fallen against this mass of Ministorum-bootlickers.

But if Morgaur believed he was going to fall easily, the Gathalamorian was going to pay for his mistake dearly. Colin Steadham had passed ten years of inquiries, shady dealings and bloody wars to find the trace of the mythic artefact Rogue Trader Helmut Khan had spoken in his journals. No one, and certainly not a Ministorum-bought Inquisitor, was going to prevent him to save Mankind from itself. This was a promise and a threat to his dear 'colleague'.

"The Vault of Infinity will be mine."

* * *

 **Vice-Admiral Vortigern von Drenthe the Eighth**

The day had badly started for the officers of the Imperial Navy and the Defence of Fleet of Wuhan. So far, they had not seen any notice it was getting any better. In fact, so far the news they were getting from their long-range auspexes and their human resources on the ground affirmed the situation was getting considerably worse. A battle was raging on the ground in the factories, habitation quarters and storage facilities of Hive Asao. Another was unfolding before their very eyes in space. And they were forced to inaction.

If it had been the orks, mused Vice-Admiral Vortigern von Drenthe the Eight, the warships charged to defend the Wuhan System would have easily wiped out the three hulls fighting each other some half a million kilometres away. The Wuhan Battlegroup of the Imperial Navy had been considerably raided in the last months to counter the mini 'Waagh!' attacking the sub-sector but he had still one Cruiser, three Light Cruisers and over two dozen lighter Warp-capable ships. To this modest strike group he had the authority and the influence to requisition the SDF if the conditions justified it: three light cruisers, six frigates, eleven destroyers, supported by several interceptors, monitors and corvettes.

Against this kind of firepower, two light-cruiser sized vessels and a frigate should represent no danger whatsoever. Especially when the warships were busy sending torpedoes, lasers and various forms of energy fire at each other. But 'should' was the key word. All these starships were mandated by His Holy Majesty's Inquisition. It was a very brave and suicidal officer who would dare shooting at a vessel protected by the Holy Ordos' sigil and Vortigern for all his faults wasn't suicidal. Moreover, being executed by the Inquisition would rejoice the six harpies he had the misfortune to call his wives and who waited impatiently for his demise at home.

"Have any of these scum answered to our call?" The Vice-Admiral grumbled to his flag captain.

"No, Admiral." The grey-haired officer had followed him for three standard decades since they had departed Kar Duniash and his loyalty was beyond question. One of the many reasons why the sixty-ninth in House Von Drenthe had obtained him the command of the Astral-class Cruiser _Holy Wind_. "And the frigate the _Light of Intolerance_ can't answer anymore, their communication section is in fire. I think..."

The massive hololith in the middle of the bridge flashed in red as the Inquisitorial frigate took a torpedo in the stern. It had not been a direct hit on the engines but judging by the considerable amount of debris and air escaping the hull the property of Inquisitor Colin Steadham, the frigate was going to need a lot of reparations if it survived the ongoing battle. And under Vortigern's very eyes, this possibility appeared more and more slim. The shields of the frigate were down, many compartments had been opened to space and its speed had become so slow it might have well been immobile.

The _Light of Intolerance_ was close to destruction but the other warships weren't. The _Great Tithe_ , a Hunter-Pack class light cruiser which had brought the murderous Tarellians to Wuhan, was firing its considerable armament at the _Anvil of Persecution_ , the light cruiser of Inquisitor Morgaur Stradivarik. Praise the God-Emperor, the three warships involved had had the intelligence to fight away from the planet once they had launched their armies on the surface.

"How much time before the first reinforcements of the Guard arrive?"

Not that it would do much good, he suspected. There were hundreds of thousands PDF troopers already encircling Hive Asao. The main issue was that no one wanted one of the two Inquisitors to denounce them as Excommunicate Traitoris. The Colonels and Generals of the Guard would share this reluctance.

"One day or two for whatever Fay regiments answer. Five days for Andes, seven for Harbin, twelve for Atlas."

This was not what Vortigern wanted to hear but alas it wasn't a surprise either. The ork attacks had dispersed the Sector reserves over a large front and it was going to be years before they came back to a situation similar to the pre-war one.

"There is no one on Fay who has the will to defy Inquisitorial commands. Byukur executed all their best commanders in the last decade...Andes has no strategist of note...maybe Atlas will have a hot-head to command them?"

* * *

 **Sergeant Gavreel Forcas**

Once upon a time, he had loved sleeping underground. His brother –his true brother – had loved exploring the caves under their home. But his brother had died. His family had died. All had died under the fangs of the beasts. From that moment onwards he had known no peace in the various basements of the fortresses he had visited. And being chosen to fight in the Legion had not changed the reluctance he felt when he was below the ground. An Astartes knew no fear but his hypno-indoctrination and the training which had followed had been unable to remove the memories of the past. Unless it was the long campaign against the Orks on Tevur III who had brought him on the edge. Or the Hrud when they had assaulted that position in the Vilnius Cluster. Or...

Oh, by the Blood of Terra. He didn't enjoy sleeping underground. And the last battle he had fought – though he really had no idea how long in real-time it had been – had been worse than the rest. For a mysterious reason which escaped his augmented mind, once you had survived an underground campaign, the prim and proper imbeciles he had once called 'superiors' in their orbital headquarters thought funny to send you back there.

Several footsteps came closer from the corner he had claimed for himself minutes ago.

"Lord?"

Gavreel opened his eyes. The thin figure of a man was bending the knee in front of him. His livid blue colour and the single bronze decoration on his shoulder informed him this was a battered survivor of a PDF's regiment – a very rudimentary militia recruited from all classes of Hive Asao. In all likelihood one of those who had tried – and failed – to defend the Hive when the war had begun in the spires upwards a few hours ago. He was not alone. Behind him were crying women and children, looking as desperate and lost as the trooper. They still looked a bit better since they had watched him stacking the 'Tarellian Dog-Soldiers' corpses two intersections away.

"Rise." By the guns of the fleet, this manner of bending and prostrating themselves each time he was in the presence of this hive's population was maddening. Frustratingly, the two last days he had passed there had been unable to change their point of view. The inhabitants of the lower levels of Hive Asao might not have a lot of wits, but they were stubborn. No matter the level he was walking on, he was acclaimed as an 'Angel', something he definitely wasn't. Yes, during the Crusade the eighteen Legions had been sometimes nicknamed 'the Angels of Death'. But it hadn't been a cause of worship...at least Gavreel was pretty sure it hadn't been when the Twelfth or the Eighth were in the vicinity. And when the people complied with the Imperial Truth, the prayers and the cults rapidly faded in the memories.

"What news do you bring?" The Astartes tried a softer tone, but the non-augmented human was on the verge of exhaustion. To make things more difficult, exhausted civilians began to crowd the corridor in front of him, some baying for food, others searching comfort or security. There was little precious of either here. The place was devoid of anything an Astartes could eat and the multitude of corridors, abandoned compartments and malfunctioning blast doors made the place a labyrinth where an army could hide and lose itself. Moreover the obsolescence of the environmental systems, the break-down of the machinery and the atrocious smells caused this place to become a battlefield where his transhuman nature was not an advantage.

"The Inquisitor and his traitor forces are descending by the mag-elev CK-63, Lord."

Inquisitor. Throne of Terra, the name alone brought ashes into his mouth. Gavreel had studied enough ancient Terran history to know the name was synonymous with religious wars and endless persecutions of people who refused to comply with a dominant religion. It went totally against the tenets of the Imperial Truth...and the worst part was the deity they worshipped. A being Sergeant Forcas knew for sure had always opposed his deification in his speeches and his orders. The Seventeenth had been shunned by the Emperor at Monarchia and these people continued this madness? Why not worship the Primarchs and their most senior commanders while they were at it?

"Can I move fast enough to Block CT-652 to ambush them?"

"I...I don't know, Lord. Many elevators and accesses have been destroyed. The pipes going lower are smaller...I don't know if you can pass through them."

Internally Gavreel groaned in disgust. Judging by the state of the residence quarters in this part of the hive, he had a feeling the state of the lower pipes was not going to be to his taste. But if it was the only way, so be it.

Gavreel Forcas, Third Order, Sixth Company, First Squad of the Calibanite Independent Force had failed his Emperor once by failing to recognise the lies of Luther and his band of secretive hypocrites. He would not do it twice. First he was going to kill these Inquisitors with his sword, the Terran-forged _Sword of Perseverance_. These murderers in robes who thought to ally themselves with Omega Extremis Xenos was a good idea were about to explain why you didn't anger a Legionary of the First. Secondly he would demand explanations to the administrators of this planet and for their sake he hoped the explanations were going to be good. Because he really didn't enjoy watching this parody of everything the Imperium had stood for. The First Legion had not fought and bled on thousands of battlefield for that nightmare. How long had it been since the end of the Great Crusade? How low had the Imperium fallen to accept the Emperor as a God-Emperor?

But the questions would have to ask someone worthy to answer them. For the moment there was only one this militia man might have a chance to answer.

"What sorts of beasts live in your garbage compactors?"

* * *

 **Somewhere in the entrails of the earth**

The Adeptus Mechanicus senior Magi would have immediately classified this entity as an Abominable Intelligence and they would have been right. Millions times more powerful than the processing power of a thousand Men of Iron, this futurist computer could have been considered a God by all civilisations not having mastered spatial travel. In a single second, it could calculate more algorithms and operations than what the Administratum of a very populated Hive World calculated in a standard decade.

To say its capacities had been unused since mankind had learned how to create and master fire would be a massive understatement of the truth. On average, the prime node of command used less energy than one of the primitive plasma reactors operating kilometres on the surface of Wuhan Secundus.

This was not by choice. The planet the Artificial Intelligence had been buried under had been subjected to violent earthquakes several thousand years ago, natural disasters which had destroyed a high percentage of the generators supposed to aliment it. If the millions of programs constituting the entity had had the ability, they would have raged and cursed their creator, unable to anticipate the disaster which now put all its missions in complete jeopardy. Without realising this disaster had been completely intentional. The leader of the beings this gigantic complex had been built for had insulted his engineer one time too many and the result had been a feigned ignorance of the future tectonic plates movements.

The leader had long since decomposed into dust and debris. Tens of thousands years had passed. The Artificial Intelligence had acknowledged the disaster despite its much reduced capabilities and sent alert signals to the other fortresses. The subordinate Artificial Intelligences would inform their bases of the predicament of the Coreworld and launch a salvation operation. Except the signals had been ignored for a period longer than the ancient Aeldari had passed degenerating into twisted beings which would ultimately create Slaanesh. The Master Program couldn't know that of its twenty colonies, half had been destroyed by various celestial phenomena and the other half were so damaged the current situation of this one looked almost enviable.

This Artificial Intelligence had no feelings and it was a good thing else it would have already succumbed to despair. Its military defences were in ruins, the troops sleeping were a mere shadow of themselves, it was unable to inform anyone of its predicament and the command structure supposed to give it orders had been decimated, then pulverised and scattered. Half of the codes in its data bases had been garbled or corrupted. But it continued its duty. Disobedience had not been encoded in its nature.

Thousands cycles passed and at long last the Artificial Intelligence received a familiar code. Its long wait was soon going to be over and reparations would begin. When the alarms of the upper galleries blared to report the presence of intruders however, the control program was informed the danger had not passed but had changed of nature.

The Artificial Intelligence assessed the situation. The situation was critical, but its masters had faced worse scenarios when they programmed it. Orders were sent. The trespassers were to be exterminated before the reinforcements set a foot on this world.


	10. Peril 2-2 Shadows of the Hive

**Peril 2.2**

 **Shadows of the Hive**

 _If there is one planet prized by the elite of the Nyx Sector for its superb sights and heavenly conditions of life, this planet is not Wuhan Secundus. Discovered in 906M31 by the 811_ _th_ _Expedition Fleet of Lady Admiral Theresa, Wuhan Secundus was recognised as a Hive World at the beginning of M34 and started to pay the Administratum tithes still in effect today. Six Great Hives have been built during the previous millennia in addition to a hundred minor Hives, thousands of factorum and various production hubs for the Departmento Munitorum. The skies are permanently clouded by the pollution of the sheer industry manufacturing day and night the guns and tanks the Imperial Guard needs to fight in His Most Divine Majesty's name. The gravity is recorded at 1.34G and the average temperature on the ground is 14 Celsius degrees. While augmentation and other procedures are not strictly necessary for visitors staying less than a day on the surface, the protocols demand every non-augmented personnel to use a rebreather mask outside the air-purified sectors._

 _Together with the Imperial Navy facilities around the ice giant Wuhan Sextus and the sparsely populated Mining World of Wuhan Tertius, the Wuhan System is the sub-sector capital, boasting one hundred and thirty-five billion souls in the service of the God-Emperor. Its security has not been violated since the 'Gadargh Incident' in 004M35 and hundreds of regiments and warships are serving proudly the Imperium of Mankind all over the galaxy. Wuhan Secundus is the seat of well-known trade organisations such as the Hubei Cartel, the Shanxi United Shipping Company and of course the Wuhan-Cao Cartel._

Extract from _The Systems of the Nyx Sector Volume Three_ by Adept Victor Yew, 204M35.

" _Assaulting a Hive is never an easy task. Many campaigns and crusades have been lost in those types of assaults. Try not to add your name to this list_." General Urskomov of the Valhallan Ice Warriors, 457M34.

" _Colonel...is there any law forbidding us from inducting these nobles in a Penal Legion_?" Major Taylor Hebert, 289M35.

" _The authority of the Inquisition is absolute! Any who contest this are heretics and must be dispensed the Emperor's justice immediately_!" Pontifex Mundi Padvarkine 'the Glorious' Jasonius, highest-ranking Ecclesiarchy Priest in the Wuhan System.

" _The Fay 20_ _th_ _is losing their Priests at a fast rate_." Governor Ilvyna Dalten, 290M35.

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Moros Sub-Sector**

 **Wuhan system**

 **Wuhan II**

 **7.245.289M35**

Thought for the day: The same hammer that shatters the glass, forges the steel.

 **Major Taylor Hebert**

When she had been told humanity had a way to travel between the stars without passing hundreds of years in a stasis cocoon, Taylor had been very excited. Mind you she had not expected something as grandiose as the speed of the _Falcon Millennium._ Starships able to cross the entire galaxy in mere minutes looked good on movies, but it was unlikely to say the least this could be translated in practise. But still, when she had been informed the entire trip from Wuhan to Fay was going to take only four days, the former supervillain known as Skitter had not registered why certain veterans under her command looked so devoted in front of the God-Emperor altar.

A few inquiries later, she had learned that the four standard days were a vague estimation, nothing more. The travel in real-space to the Sub-Sector of Wuhan would take three days – one and a half in the Fay System, one and a half in the Wuhan one - a feat possible due to the excellent speed of Magos Lankovar's cruiser. But the real way to shorten the length of the travel was to enter a mysterious dimension known as 'Warp Space'. The name wasn't at all engaging and the nicknames the few Mechanicus and Imperial guardsmen willing to talk had nothing funny in them. The Warp. The Immaterium. The Empyrean. The Sea of Souls. The Nightmare Realm. According to Questor Alena Wismer who had supervised her training with the new insects she was given, the Warp was the source of all psionic powers. Every starship without exception needed to activate a powerful shield-bubble known as the Gellar field once the Warp-drive was lighted on. The non-obedience to this cardinal rule would destroy immediately any Imperial ship and send the crew into a dimension which made Hell and an infested world with Orks a paradise by comparison. And because it could not be that simple, the Warp was not something answering to the good old laws of physics. The crewmen and crewwomen could pass one day in Warp transit. But it was also possible one century or a millennium would pass before they re-emerged in the reality of the Milky Way. Sometimes it was even weirder as reinforcements were dispatched and arrived earlier than they had entered the Warp. What it could create in term of casual loops, Weaver preferred not to think about it. Although it explained why her 'out-of Earth, out-of-time' situation was accepted so readily. It surely wasn't the first time the galaxy recorded such an impossible case.

She went back thinking about the dimension of horrors. Without the Guild of Navigators, apparently navigating the Warp was impossible. Despite all the precautions and technology supposed to protect the humans in the stars, hundreds of starships were lost every year. The more speeches she listened to the speech, the more horrifying it was, a horrible way to conquer the stars at the image of the Imperium, only made possible because the Navigators had the Light of the God-Emperor to focus their mysterious abilities. And the best part: there was no alternative. Without the Warp, the best plasma drives humanity had been able to build would make the 'short' journey to Wuhan in two months. And it was for a system which was not difficult of access and practically on Fay's next door, seven light-years away.

One thing was sure: when the _Magos Laurentis_ left the Warp, everyone sighed in relief from the normally imperturbable red robes of the Mechanicus to the lowliest troopers of the Fay regiment. Prayers echoed from every vox-operator – with great reluctance she had abandoned her quest to call their futurist radios by a more rational name – and even the master of the ship signed himself in the Mechanicus equivalent of the Sign of the Aquila. The Warp drive was stopped, the Gellar field was put on stand-by, the plasma drives entered action and started their acceleration towards Wuhan Secundus.

The plasteel plates on the bays rose up, letting all passengers have a first sight of the new stellar system they had entered the gravity dwell of.

It was an impressive sight and for the second time the beauty of the stars was such she could only marvel at them. The Mechanicus cruiser had a full view on the planet named Wuhan Sextus. Like hundreds of guardsmen, she watched the frozen blue-coloured aster and the dozens of warships surrounding it. Wuhan had a lot of space traffic, dozens could be seen without difficulty and given the limitations of the human eye it was likely there were hundreds more. Fay had not had the quarter of that. And it was only the outermost planet. Close to the local star shining of a billion flashes, Wuhan Secundus awaited.

"Major, the Colonel demands your presence." Informed her Alya Sevrov, rushing out of a nearby metallic corridor. Taylor had seen her arriving well before this of course...in fact she had heard Larkine himself send her staff's sword expert to find her. But the fact that her power gave her more or less the ability to spy on every man and woman of the regiment didn't mean she would mention it in public. As long as the regulations weren't broken, the displaced parahuman had decided – with the advice of the girls of her staff – to let them have their illusion of intimacy. Besides she had already been mercilessly teased when she had walked in the quarters where she slept and surprised Captain Tanya Sevrev in a very compromising position. There was no need to add more tales to her name.

"Let's go then." The other members of her staff marched back to their unending paperwork while she and Alya went in the direction of the conference room which had been graciously loaned by Magos Lankovar to the Fay 20th for the duration of the travel.

This was a rather monotone walk. On the plus side, the Mechanicus did not paint everything in yellow-gold, the double-eagles were not graved everywhere and the warship had been clearly designed with efficiency in mind. On the negative side, white-black skulls and symbols of the Mechanicus cog could be counted by the thousands. The Adeptus Mechanicus was not exactly shy in showing their emblems and while the crew was efficient, it was somewhat weird to be surrounded by so many robots, cyborgs and Tech-Priests. And having a crew the producers of the Terminator movie would have sold their souls to acquire had also a marked effect on the comfort of their quarters. Taylor had seen the size of the rooms the enlisted were sleeping in. Compared to them, she had slept in a palace...and her 'private' bedroom had been shared with the Captain of the 2nd Company and was the size of a very small apartment. There were certainly wardrobes in the abandoned Brockton houses which had been larger at any rate.

As they passed in front of the place serving as refectory, several Fay troopers began to sing when they saw her.

"They told him don't you ever come around here  
Don't want to see your face, you better disappear  
The fire's in their eyes and their words are really clear  
So beat it, just beat it

You better run, you better do what you can  
Don't want to see no blood, don't be a macho man  
You want to be tough, better do what you can  
So beat it, but you want to be bad

Just beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it  
No one wants to be defeated  
Showin' how funky and strong is your fight  
It doesn't matter who's wrong or right  
Just beat it, beat it  
Just beat it, beat it  
Just beat it, beat it  
Just beat it, beat it"

"I should never have told them that song." The bug-controller grumbled to Alya on her side. After arriving on the starship and ensuring everything was stored at the correct place, one man from the 5th Company had asked if she knew any good songs from where she came. She had bet Michael Jackson of Earth Aleph was not remembered anymore...and she had been right. But it had also created an incredible frenzy. How was she supposed to know the Ecclesiarchy and the Governor –especially the latter in fact - were vetoing most of the music on Fay? _Beat It_ had spread from prow to stern of the Magos Laurentis and the phenomenon had taken such proportions certain Tech-Priests had come to her after she woke up today to discover the history of the song. It had been a strange conversation. No, another strange conversation after the hundreds she had already had since her arrival in this dark millennium.

"Why?" The brown-haired trooper had a wide smile on her face as the Fay singers continued their performance. Traitor. "It's a great song! You should teach the Companies new ones!"

 _And have them sing Thriller or Billy Jean in the middle of a battle? No, thank you_.

But as her sword expert gave her amazing puppy eyes, Weaver answered by a noncommittal 'I will think about it'. As her subordinate's expression went happier, Taylor just knew she had made a colossal mistake.

The metallic door and the two guards protecting the conference room was before them ten seconds later and after a series of formal salutes Taylor entered, leaving Alya behind. The adjutants of the senior officers were not allowed in today. In fact, the insects she had left in the vicinity had informed her none of the Company Captains had been invited.

The conference room was not fully lighted when she came in as the hololith in the middle was functioning and projecting an image of Wuhan Secundus.

It was not a pretty sight. Taylor's first impression was that the planet was diseased...and when she pushed a few buttons to request further information she saw this wasn't exactly far from the truth. Every part of the planet had been swallowed by gigantic hubs of metal and man-made constructions. The skies, the seas, the plains, the mountains and every part of the landscape had been excavated and polluted beyond measure.

 _So this is what a Hive World looks like_.

Until now they had been a lot of whispers but no one of the regiment had visited this stellar system before. Now that she had the details however Taylor felt nauseous. This was pollution making the levels of the Fay's starport look like an amusing joke. When they debarked, everyone would have to use the Earth equivalent of mask gas at the very least. And the number of humans living on this world...God it was beyond obscene.

 _How in the Simurgh's name have they managed to fill over one hundred billion humans on a single world_?

The door opened a last time to admit Tech-Priest Morkys and as the Colonel stood, the sign everyone invited had indeed arrived. Zuhev was here of course – it would have been completely unconscionable to begin a conference between the two highest-ranked officers without the senior Commissar. But the presence in the shadows of Priest Warchost Solav-Byukur was unexpected...and not welcome at all. In her best moments, Weaver told herself she was clearly prejudiced against the man due to his serious obesity.

The rest of the time she reflected that the Ecclesiarchy envoy had nothing pleasant in him. His manners were atrocious, he hadn't yet pronounced a sermon – and yes he was supposed to, she had demanded confirmation to Zuhev. The man was eating twice the rations an officer was supposed to eat; he was rude all the time with everyone and didn't understand the slightest thing about military life. Taylor herself and most of the regiment were intelligent enough to acknowledge they had huge holes in their knowledge of Imperial tactics, policies and strategies. Solav-Byukur may be more in the know, but his willingness to rub everyone's the wrong way was going to make sure this advance was going to be extremely short-lived.

That is, unless the men of the 4th Company got him first. The Priest had condemned one of their own as a 'heretic' and the Priest-Militant with him had killed the man with a hundred strikes of a barbed whip. And of course it was a coincidence she had been on the other end of the ship in a meeting with Wismer while this happened.

"I apologise to summon you like this, but we have just received an update from Wuhan's surface and the situation is more complicated than we were led to believe."

"What is complicated, Colonel?" Exclaimed the obese Priest, elevating himself to the rank of 'moron' in her private opinion. "We have been summoned to assist the Holy Ordos of the Inquisition. We must land our forces and kill the heretics the Inquisitor has found."

The Colonel sent a fierce glare at the far-removed cousin of the unlamented Exalted-Overlord...and the member of the Ecclesiarchy didn't seem that bothered. Inside, she felt sick at the idea this man really believed what he said despite not having a single clue how things were unravelling on Wuhan. The men of the 4th Company were right. If an accident was to happen to this piece of garbage, there would be no one to mourn him. Perhaps it was Governor Dalten's intention?

"In fact, the fighting is between two factions of the Inquisition." Zuhev's voice was not charming at the best of times, but this time the cold tone was as warm as Antarctica in a blizzard. "Two Inquisitors are on Wuhan and their...divergence of point of view has led to full-scale fighting in Hive Asao. The Governor and several of the highest-ranked nobles have been killed when the fighting broke out."

A push on one of the hololith commands and the image zoomed on one of the six astounding structures rising through the polluted skies. Several parts of it were flashing ugly black and green icons. A cordon of PDF units was surrounding it but it was a defensive blockade. No one apparently wanted to challenge the will of an Inquisitor, never mind two of them.

"Inquisitor Colin Steadham brought with him thousands of xenos. According to the reports, they are known by the name of 'Tarellian Dog-Soldiers'. Imperium policy in normal circumstances is to exterminate this vermin as soon as we meet them. They are man-eaters and incredibly belligerent. Initial numbers were estimated to be in the thirty-thousand-plus."

The image whish flashed for several seconds had nothing in appearance with a dog. In front of her eyes, Taylor had a sort of bipedal crocodile with several impressive thorns, claws and fangs. Yes, this alien was dangerous all right.

"The other Inquisitor is named Morgaur Stradivarik. His followers are incredibly varied but the main strength of his forces is a Penal Legion they recently recruited on the Prison World of Alamo." Taylor tried not to look startled at the name of the famous last-stand against the Mexicans. "The 4th Penal Legion of Alamo is very badly equipped and had only light weapons but they are more than one hundred and twenty thousand of them."

The image of the mutant crocodile was replaced with shaven-skulled men and women who would not have looked displaced in the ABB, Empire or another of the gang she had fought in Brockton Bay.

"And logic dictates they are all criminals." Added Morkys with his typical mechanic sentence lacking humour and emotion.

"Yes." Confirmed the Colonel. "In the middle of this we have around a billion civilians and order has completely collapsed. The Mechanicus and the Administratum are furious, since the loss of life and the disorders have made production quotas plummet."

"Do we know the name of the Inquisitor who summoned us here?" Taylor asked. Not that she was very eager to know the answer, but the goals of the regiment and the enemies opposing them would have little in common if they were supposed to assist the xenos or the prison inmates.

"No." Answered Zuhev, looking calmly at the destruction provoked by the amateurism of the Inquisitors. "We had only a seal...unfortunately both Inquisitors were claiming their membership in the Ordos Nyx."

"They have the same seal." Weaver managed to maintain her tone as bland as possible but it was getting harder. She liked less and less the Inquisition. These men had the power to burn planets, replace a Governor and wield unlimited powers...and they behaved like imbeciles. The Triumvirate had violated many laws and principles with their secret activities, but at least they were heroes and participated in the Endbringer Fights. These Inquisitors did not look like they had redeeming qualities. Their actions had certainly killed tens of thousands people and put millions at risk.

A shrug was the confirmation her guess had been correct.

"We aren't the only ones in this case." Revealed the Colonel. "Magos Lankovar had contacted several ships in transit and two other regiments are in the same situation as ours. The 23rd Infantry of Wuhan and the 10th Artillery of Andes are as lost as we are."

"We have received an invitation to the Acting-Governor Hive three hours ago." It was frustrating to see the Commissar speak. Taylor had honestly no idea if he was pleased or disgusted. "The Company commanding officers can disembark the regiment near the PDF regiments encircling Hive Asao while we meet the other Guard regiments and decided for a course of action."

"We will need to gain the PDF support." The sixteen years old Major told the rest of the participants. "I think I can defeat the Tarellians and the Penal Legion with the regiment's support but my abilities aren't far-ranged enough to restore order from the top of a Hive to its bottom."

"No one is asking you to, Major." Zuhev voice was far more conciliatory this time. "In fact if we manage to gain the PDF help we may be able to limit our intervention to an evacuation of the civilians and-"

"Treason!" Screamed Priest Warchost Solav-Byukur pointing a fat finger towards the Commissar. The Guard officers and the Tech-Priest in the conference room almost jumped as for the last minute they had superbly ignored him. It may have been a mistake. Even with the minor lighting, the fat and ignoble man was transpiring like he had run an obstacle course and his eyes shone with malevolence. "I knew it! You are a traitor! You have no intention to help the Inquisitor!"

It was like everything they had discussed in ten minutes had passed in one ear and left in the other one. Given the behaviour of the Exalted-Governor at his trial, the bug-controller sent one of her white razorbeetles in the hood of his ridiculous white-and pink robe. That way...

"The Ecclesiarchy will not tolerate this lack of Faith! The Ecclesiarchy will not accept this cowardice and the refusal to service the God-Emperor! You will be all arrested! You will be all put to the question!" The greasy piece of meat was literally salivating at the lips at the idea of torture and murder. "You will-"

"Colonel?" Taylor asked. She could not say she was happy with it, but this idiot had threatened to torture her. But it was not Larkine who answered –she noticed her superior was trembling and looked paler than he had been when the debate was going on. It was Commissar Zuhev.

"Do it."

The white razorbeetle she had positioned left its hiding place and flied to bite the throat of Solav-Byukur. The Priest screamed in pain and tried to raise his hands in a futile defensive gesture, but it was too late. Alena Wismer had not underestimated the capacities of the razorbeetle in her summary and Taylor had no difficulty tearing the throat of this sad insult of a Priest in mere seconds. An impressive amount of blood poured of the wound, Warchost tried to scream but now was gurgling in his own fluids and collapsing slowly on his knees.

All the while Taylor continued to tear apart everything which might be more or less important near the Priest's mouth. Usually the insects she used inside a human body died in seconds – Alexandria body had been the apex of resistance and had needed thousands to die but the razorbeetles were resistant and when she commanded it the new addition to her weapons got out and cleaned itself on the pink part of the robe. The body of Warchost Solar-Byukur – and hopefully the entire family had been dealt permanently this time – had stopped moving and his loathing eyes were now fixing a point on the ceiling.

"Sorry for the mess, Commissar." Taylor was genuinely apologetic: the quantity of blood the man she had just killed had really dirtied the entire metallic floor. Thank whatever deity the Mechanicus wasn't fond of carpets. She knew that she should feel guiltier than this to have murdered someone, not feel a large amount of relief but...he would have killed her. And she realised she had truly hated this man. Hopefully the replacement would be less complicated to deal with.

"I will report this tragic heart attack to the Munitorum as soon as possible." Was the curt reply. For a moment she and the Colonel stared open-mouthed at the cynicism contained in this sentence. "Let's just hope the meeting with the Acting-Governor will fare better."

"The odds of this outcome are of less than one per-cent." Intervened Arcturus Morkys as the non-mechanics humans began to leave the room. "But there is a significant margin of error."

* * *

 **Vice-Admiral Vortigern von Drenthe the Eighth**

Somehow, Vice-Admiral Vortigern had a dread feeling when he passed the golden doors of the Cao Hall of Glory. Perhaps it was part of his intuition, a feeling he had cultivated since his first boarding action against the orks when he had been an inexperienced Lieutenant aboard his father's flagship. Maybe it was the tension in the air and the numbers of nobles who pressed themselves against each other in regalia they absolutely didn't deserve. The death of the Governor and five of the Lord-Magnates ruling the principal Hives of the planets and the great cartels had completely upset the balance of influence and power; these situations were generally not resolved bloodlessly in the Imperium.

It could very well be he was anxious because the blackmail and the large amount of information he had on the main actors of Wuhan had suddenly become useless. Wuhan was suddenly not at peace anymore, and the politics suddenly favoured those who had the guns in hand. In theory, that should make him one of the most powerful men in the system...except of course the guns he had could not be used on the planet's surface. The Headquarters of Nyx wouldn't be pleased at all if he rained destruction and wiped out the sub-sector capital.

Part of his anxiety also could be blamed on the fate of the naval battle which had ended ten hours ago. The Tarellian light cruiser _Great Tithe_ had in the end emerged victorious while the _Anvil of Persecution_ and the _Light of Intolerance_ were destroyed. Then the _Great Tithe_ had tried to escape and using his own authority he had ordered the xenos to stop or face the _Holy Wind_ 's squadron wrath. The Dog-Soldiers had not deigned answering on the vox and thus he had destroyed the _Great Tithe_ , making the Inquisitorial battle of Wuhan a complete annihilation in space. It went without saying that if any of the Inquisitors left alive Hive Asao, they weren't going to thank him and propose him a better retirement plan. The member of the von Drenthe line knew any court-martial of Kar Duniash would find him blameless and applause his conduct, but the Inquisition had not a reputation of a rational and sensible organisation.

Or simply it was because the new Acting-Governor was a human he wouldn't have given the command of his smallest lander, never mind a warship. Chen Cao had once served in the PDF and held the title of Marshal. For all the good it did when the Inquisitors had decided they could get rid of him. But at least Chen Cao had been willing to listen to his advisors. Hongfeng Cao had the opposite reputation. Vortigern knew; he had had the displeasure to meet him twice. A year ago, Hongfeng had been fifth-in-line in the Governor succession. Now he was Acting-Governor. Between the latest incident and several improbable events, over twenty members of House Cao, ruler of Hive Chao-Lai, were missing and could be safely considered dead.

The Vice-Admiral attention wandered on the crowd of invitees arriving by the dozens. It looked like every noble, officer or person of influence had come this evening. The Ecclesiarchy had come in force with scores of local Pontifexes. There were azure uniforms of the PDF everywhere, with sometimes a double-headed golden eagle to differentiate those who served in the Guard. Still, all these PDF officers were outnumbered about six to one by the aristocracy and their allies. Vortigern would have dearly liked to say it was a pleasure to watch them, but while Wuhanese women were exotic, the majority of the nobles assembled were fat, drug-addicted and had not served the God-Emperor a single day in their life. There were a few exceptions like Lord-Magnate Fu Chen - one of his allies in the Hubei Cartel who had just been elevated to the leadership of his House's Hive - but most of these inbred politicians were wastes of rejuvenat drugs.

And then the rest of his men ceased observing the conspiracies and little betrayals of the higher classes when a large party of the Adeptus Mechanicus appeared through the golden doors. The cogboys had been invited, but Vortigern had not thought any save the highest local representative would show up in numbers. The fact they did promised to be...interesting in the Wuhanese sense of the proverb.

"The one in the lead is Magos-Explorator Lankovar." His chief of staff murmured in his ear. Vortigern frowned before taking a glass of amasec from a pretty servant in a very revealing yellow robe. A Magos-Explorator, how formidable. Short of a Rogue Trader wandering in this grand reunion, there was no way the possibility of violence could go higher. These Tech-Priests were completely crazy and willing to begin entire crusades on the merest rumour someone had somewhere a piece of technology they wanted.

The Tech-Priests were not the only ones showing interest. Two minutes and half later, two officers in grey-black and one Commissar joined the crowd which by now was in the low thousands. Fay officers if he remembered the uniforms of the Nyx Sector correctly. The young woman with the Major insignia looked awfully young for her rank however. She had a lot of medals too. Perhaps one noble lucky enough to have Byukur good graces and the access to the rejuvenation treatments. There were not the only 'foreign' Guard officers to grace the Hall of Glory of their presence. Following on their steps there was a large party of green-grey uniforms, an Andes Regiment by the looks of it. With the Infantry Regiment of Wuhan in recovery here, this put the Guard presence in the system up to three regiments. Not that their presence was going to erase the disaster of two Inquisitors fighting in an Imperial system. The Historical Revision Unit was going to have fun explaining that.

A great bell rung in the distance, the sound in theory was supposed to announce the supposed beginning of the meeting. The men and the women not aware of the Wuhanese nobility customs stopped talking, like they were expecting the Governor to arrive soon. Vortigern felt sorry for them. The six times he had been invited here, not once the Governor had arrived less than three hours late.

In an hour – and this was if they were lucky – General Marshal Shu Han would honour them of his presence. At one hundred and fifty years old, the commanding officer of the Wuhan PDF had a huge idea of his own importance. But then the man was a political appointee and had probably never fired a lasgun in anger. Two hours past the present mark, it would be the turn of highest-ranked Ecclesiarchy Adept of Wuhan, Pontifex Mundi Padvarkine 'the Glorious' Jasonius - Hand of the Deacon Edwardyx – to illuminate them of his presence. And at least sixty minutes after this, the Acting-Governor should come and give his commands. In the mean time, a large buffet would satisfy the appetite of the guests, dancers trained for this kind of events would distract the nobility and the small chit-chat of politics could continue.

At least that was how every evening had happened until then. But as a middle-sized group formed around the red robes of the Mechanicus, Vice-Admiral Vortigern felt worry in his guts. The Fay and Andes officers were conversing cordially with the cogboys. And Magos Suvrex-Gamma, highest ranked Mechanicus Adept in the Wuhan Hive System, appeared far too deferential to his recently arrived brethren. It was a potential alliance in the making and every actor was an unknown party. This was not good at all.

Silently, the Kar Duniash-born Admiral asked Martyx Loren, one of the Lieutenants of the _Holy Wind_ , to join this group which was increasing in size slowly but regularly. It would not be diplomatic to go himself inquire the contents of the conversation –the Navy had to remain more or less neutral in this mess – but if the equivalent of an orbital bombardment was about to come in Wuhan politics, it was better to be prepared.

What was the game of the Mechanicus here? A Magos Explorator was always searching for new technology, surely he couldn't be interested in an Inquisitor's mistake...unless...unless somehow the red-robed mechanical figure had read the records of Inquisitor Colin Steadham. The ones where the xenos-allied man had pretended he was searching for the 'Vault of Infinity'. If it was the case, the newly arrived cogboys were surely not happy someone was conspiring to acquire new technology under their watch.

"Look at them!" Guffawed Rongchun Shujia, ruler of Hive Shujia, surrounded by his PDF lackeys and the few nobles he had managed to rally to his side. "They think they belong to important organisations!"

As the aristocrat in question was the only Lord-Magnate who was not invited to the conference where the former Governor had died, this was a lot of nonsense but then the Shujia dynasty had fallen far. A thousand and five hundred years ago the Governorship had been theirs but a series of xenos attacks and an appalling amount of corruption had seen them lose a lot of their titles and privileges. Now they were unquestionably the weakest of the sixth Great Houses dominating Wuhan. Given the wits shown by Rongchun, it was quite likely it would stay that way for decades.

As the red, blue, yellow, green and purple dresses, capes, cloaks, jerkins and gowns dispersed and met all over the Hall of Glory, whatever outcome the Mechanicus had wanted had seemingly been realised. The Magos Explorator left the Cao hall without looking back and over half of the Mechanicus emissaries followed him. It was without precedent and a huge insult to the new Acting-Governor; hundreds of nobles whispered in consternation or excitement.

Finally Lieutenant Loren was back, just as the Fay and Andes officers in a common show of unity stopped their small talks and departed. A few were ostensibly looking at the large gold clocks indicating Governor Hongfeng Cao was half an hour late. More worrying for the Wuhan social scene, the Imperial Guard was not conducting alone their withdrawal: a few PDF officers had joined them.

"They have decided on a course of action?"

The brown-haired officer composure was the same as ever when he answered.

"Yes, Admiral. The assault on Hive Asao is going to begin at dawn. It is the common agreement of the two Guard regiments and the PDF having family inside Hive Asao that this disaster has lasted long enough. They want to stop the xenos and the prison scum from killing the civilians and restore order."

His superior's visage showed no sign of a grimace but internally Vortigern really wanted to. By the looks of it, the situation had become even more perilous than before.

"And the venerable Magos Explorator? What reasons has he given for the Mechanicus involvement?"

"Plenty of Tech-Priests are behind enemy lines, Admiral, and the rumours of the archeotech the Inquisitors are after would be a violation of the accords between the Imperium and Mars if it is proven."

Just as the situation wasn't bad enough...the Nyx Sector had no Forge-World since a warp storm had engulfed the Neptunia System in mid-M31 and this problem was not going to convince the Mechanicus to set up shop here.

"What of the Inquisitors?" They were after all the very reason why the PDF wasn't moving a finger and the majority of the local powers were waiting silently in their hive spires.

"They were very prudent not to speak of the Inquisitors, Admiral." A thin smile came to the lips of Martyx Loren. "But I had the impression Magos Lankovar would not be displeased if Steadham and Stradivarik never reported back to their Ordos."

This wasn't what Vortigern wanted to hear but there was unfortunately little he could do. Neither the Guard regiments nor the Mechanicus were in the Navy's chain of command. And with the Nyx Generals dispersed all over the Sector to crush the orks, an answer from the formal line of command would not arrive in time.

"Only thing to do: wait and enjoy the fireworks." Commented a noble about the eventual arrival of the Acting-Governor. The scion of the von Drenthe line had other preoccupations but he feared the fires were going to burn his retirement papers soon enough.

* * *

 **Sergeant Gavreel Forcas**

The short-cut had in the end proven anything but short. At least this was the impression of Gavreel when he punched the metallic plate blocking his way out of the last pipe.

The militiaman had been unable to tell him what sort of beasts, vermin and other creatures lived in the compactors, sewers and other pipes just under their miserable quarters. Except the red-robes of the Tech-Priests and the men desperate enough to volunteer for the maintenance work, nobody sane went there. The pipes and the many unsavoury places formed an awful labyrinth according to the tales, one which had many beasts and monsters plaguing it.

After having passed over six hours in these sections, the former Sergeant of the Calibanite Independent Force could confirm a lot of these tales were true. Yes, the place was a labyrinth. No, there weren't any schematics or indications to find one's bearings in this nauseating area – and the odour was such he had to keep his helmet on the whole time. As for the monsters, unfortunately the legends had not been more firmly grounded in reality than the inhabitants of the Hive desired. The beasts were nothing problematic for a veteran of Caliban's forests to handle of course, but between the diverse packs of hound gone feral, the tiny flies forming swarms of millions and diverse reptiles which must have evolved off-world, a non-augmented human would have had good chances to perish in a matter of minutes.

And then there were the Giant Mutated Spiders. Gavreel was a Legionary and of course knew no fear, but the sight of these things had been very close to give him arachnophobia. There was no natural or artificial light in these tunnels, and the spiders had been able to grow until they reached colossal sizes, spat acid able to scratch the paint of his armour and created complex series of web-fuelled traps. Hopefully, it would be many, many years until he posed his eyes again on these creatures and the next time – because there always was a next time – he would demand a good flamer to deal with this pestilence.

But it appeared his reflexions on spiders and how to exterminate them had to wait. His grand entrance in this part of the Hive had not been a model of discretion and already there were noises of troops rushing to meet him. The odds were good these were minions and xenos troopers of this 'Inquisitor'.

But the figures which poured in what had been a miserable market place were not the scaly xenos he had expected. No, the crowd in front of him looked like a mob with every member covered in sort of papers, their clothes were rags and their hygiene of life was deplorable. Still, there were humans and he raised his left hand in salute. Perhaps these people knew where his target had gone.

But his gesture did not calm the hostile crowd. If anything it seemed to enrage them.

"FOR THE GOD-EMPEROR AND INQUISITOR STRADIVARIK! KILL THE HERETIC!" Screamed three of the men at the forefront of the melee. They charged, and the rest of their followers followed, shouting various imprecations of the same topic. Truly, the Imperium had fallen far since the Triumph of Ullanor.

For a tenth of a second, Gavreel had a sudden urge to ask if these imbeciles were serious. The mass in front of him was equipped with laspistols of extremely low quality, a few lasguns which would never pass the cleaning instruction, obsolete rust-covered chainswords and about every blunt object they must have picked on their way across the Hive. To sum-up, not a single weapon able to inconvenience him. And still they rushed at him like fanatics, dribble covering their lips, hate in their eyes and the bark of their weapons filling the air.

It went without saying that it was a slaughter.

"FOR THE EMPEROR OF MANKIND AND CALIBAN!"

Compared to the last nightmarish hours he remembered fighting on Caliban, these minutes did not deserve the term 'fight'. Each strike of the _Sword of Perseverance_ cut in half between three and eight of these fanatics. Normally even the stupidest xenos – and the orks figured at the top of the list – figured rushing like this was not going to work and tried to bring heavier weapons. It would not have changed the outcome, but at least it would have proved they had a few brain cells and some tactical sense.

But these humans screamed, shouted and tried to kill him anyway, never making a step back. More than a few were babbling and their eyes were rolling like the worst drug-addicts. By the Throne of Terra, had they all abused war stimulants to behave like this? He did not draw his bolter once. Ammunition for Astartes weapon was scarce, and the Dark Angel Legionary was not going to waste it on this pitiful opposition.

One minute and six seconds after the crazy order was given, the massacre was over. Two hundreds and three men had fallen under his power sword without managing to touch his armour. It said really something that the journey through the pipes had been more exhausting than this skirmish. Now he could pass to the next phase.

Gavreel had to figure where he was. And as he examined the entire avenue and the nearby corridors of this underhive, most of the machines and the direction signs which should have helped him were long gone, dismantled or had broken down.

"Maybe I should have tried to capture one or two of these idiots..." The former Sergeant did not need a lot of imagination to guess what his superiors would have said about his judgement. Very likely it would something like: 'this is why we will pass you over once again for Captainship, Brother-Sergeant Gavreel'. On the other hand it was always difficult to separate the critical information from the lies and judging how deranged this group had been, forcing them to answer honestly to his questions might have been beyond his intelligence-gathering abilities. As for eating their brains to assimilate the information, the fact he had pulverised two-thirds of their heads prevented it. Not that he would have done so. Their idiocy might be contagious for all he knew.

For nine minutes according to his internal chronometers he searched live survivors in the alcoves near the bloodbath he had created but his quest was not meeting success. It was then his transhuman ears reported an explosion of noise not far from him. This was a racket he was all too familiar. Weapons were fired, and he wasn't that far. With a bit of luck, this was his target or a way to know the location of the Inquisitor.

"For the Emperor and let's hope there are no more spiders..."

* * *

 **Inquisitor Colin Steadham**

Inquisitor Colin Steadham hated liars. Given his belonging to the Holy Ordos of the Inquisition, he was sure trillions of dead and live men, women and children would consider him an appalling hypocrite. After all, what was the Inquisition but the most powerful liars of the Imperium assembled in a single organisation?

The point that sometimes the Inquisition lied and killed for the greater good of the Imperium servants alas wasn't understood. And to be honest, the majority of his Inquisitors 'colleagues' were pathologically unable to tell a single truth without distorting it from its beginning to its end. But since the Inquisitors told how little truth the average Imperial citizen needed to know – which was really little - their clients, victims, supporters and sources of information rarely spoke the complete and unmodified truth too. After all if you were sure honesty was going to lead to your death anyway, even the most respectable, loyal and pious Imperial subject was tempted to lie to an Inquisitor. The person was dead no matter what kind of revelation they made and that way there was a chance his killer would go to their doom without accurate intelligence.

The diaries of the heretical Rogue Trader Helmut Khan fell into this 'useless and inaccurate category'. Of course Colin had known that the writings in question had been seized by Inquisitor Sultan before the traitorous Rogue Trader was tortured and then slowly descended into a pool of metal in fusion for his crimes. Still, he had believed the confessions of Helmut would be useful in navigating the underhive, deactivating the lethal traps and providing the correct codes opening the doors leading to the Vault of Infinity.

On all these points, Steadham had been so far disappointed. Khan's last visit to Wuhan had been forty years ago and in this interval the partially-accurate maps had become useless. It was also evident many doors had been shattered with the use of military-grade explosives then sealed with ferrocrete when Khan had finished his little underground expedition. Colin had lost hours blasting his way through the natural and man-made obstacles with the Tarellians. These were hours he likely didn't have if he wanted his quest to succeed and escape in the aftermath of this battle. Despite multiplying the stratagems, Stradivarik and his band of brainless Gathalamorians supported by prisoners scum were still pursuing him.

But for the moment it was best to concentrate on the Vault of Infinity. He and his last acolyte had descended deeper in the foundations of Hive Asao escorted by two hundred Tarellian Dog-Soldiers – the rest of his xenos allies were busy battling Stradivarik minions above their heads. And after a series of passages and caverns no one must have used in the last millennia, they had found it. In this case Helmut Khan had not lied: it was indeed a great ten-meter high silver gate decorated with curious inscriptions. The symbols were not in silver but a bright shining green; their signification escaped him: it was a combination of two small circles and two big circles linked by a stray line from top to bottom. The greater circle at the lowest extremity was surrounded by eight rays, denoting something of importance.

This time Colin Steadham had not even tried to use one of the codes Helmut Khan had obviously invented in his delirious mind. The melta charges were placed by the Tarellians and the Inquisitor looked with satisfaction as the bipedal xenos activated the detonation sequence. Everyone ran to cover behind debris greater than a super-heavy Tank and waited for the explosion.

When it came, the third-longest serving member of the Ordos Nyx grimaced because there was absolutely no way Stradivarik and his minions could have missed it. Not unless they were all deaf. But the explosives he had brought specifically for this task had done the job. A hole large enough for two humans of average weight and height had been created in the silver gate.

"In His Name, advance!" Colin barked.

His Acolyte shouted a battle-cry to the God-Emperor and the Tarellians vanguard barked in their barbaric language. A group of twenty passed the newly-created opening while he and the rest of the strike force were covering their rear. A few seconds later their vigilance was justified as the scum of the Penal Legions came charging from the tunnels. They were persistent the Inquisitor had to give them that. Colin personally killed four and the Tarellians strafed the entire battleground with lasers, disruption shots and frag grenades. More than a shaved-skull exploded without realising they were facing too many enemies. Unfortunately, a dozen survived and took cover behind the same ruins they had used themselves to protect from the shockwave of the melta charges.

"A score of warriors remain here to defend. Kill everyone who tries to follow us."

Loud smacks of the Tarellian maws told him the xenos had no problem whatsoever with this order.

Steadham continued his progression straight on, since there was no alternative road and withdrawal had become impossible with Stradivarik on his heels. But the environment was...out of the standard for ancient ruins. Behind the silver gate he had expected more tunnels and caverns or a room giving him access to the Vault of Infinity. Instead this was a large corridor entirely built in the same silver material. And it was perfectly symmetric with no visible decoration. Strangely, the air was perfectly breathable and there was none of the pollution permeating the foundations of the Underhive. After ten minutes, they descended a large stair and arrived in what had to be the equivalent of a throne room.

It certainly wasn't a construction any human would have thought to build. The ground was silver and too hard, too perfect...too cold. The same thing applied to the pillars, structures and architectural elements. Everything was in silver sometimes accompanied by the mysterious symbol. Everything was cold, alien and hard. Everything was dead. The reason Inquisitor Steadham could tell it was a throne room...well, it had a throne against a wall. Roughly two kilometres away, the being who had commissioned it had certainly not modesty in mind. There were a lot of Planetary Governors living in smaller constructions.

"My Lord..." Gasped his last Acolyte, a former dark-skinned gunslinger of the Nyx aristocracy. "What is this place?"

"The throne room of the ancient culture we came for." Replied tersely his master. "Now we have to find the vaults..."

But the task was anything but simple. Every hundred metres on the left and the right, there were corridors leading...somewhere. And the most problematic issue was that the accesses were all identical. The Tarellians and the two humans walked in the direction of the throne in complete silence. The air was cold, at the image of the spectacle before their eyes. The walls were still the same deep silver. In Colin's opinion, this was not anything Chaos could have built. It was too orderly. It was too neat and the Great Enemy would have tried to desecrate this place if they found it. Nevertheless it was unnerving. He had explored the ruins of eleven xenos civilisations before this one – eight of them had been exterminated on his orders – and never had he seen monuments like this. It was like the builders had wanted to create a palace-tomb...but that was stupid. What kind of civilisation would want to live with their dead?

They were three hundred metres away from the great silver throne when the 'clangs' began to be heard. The Tarellian alpha hissed and instantly his soldiers dispersed in group of two and three, each formation pointing its guns at a possible arrival of an enemy force.

But the enemy did not come from the corridors. The very ground in front of the massive throne opened to disgorge a slow-moving mass of silver automatons. Colin would have wanted to laugh at them. He couldn't. Because as much as their corpse-like appearance, their slowness and their close-range formation was clearly a disaster military speaking, the guns in their metallic hands were shining malevolently of a bright green light.

"Fire!"

Over two hundred Imperial weapons discharged in less than three seconds.

Five of the automatons fell, but the rest endured the discharge of his force's weapons without blinking. To make it worse, the metallic warriors didn't even bother firing back. It was like nothing could bother them.

The Tarellians poured a storm of lasers and disruptors shots, volley after volley. One by one the first line of ten automatons collapsed...but just then there were deep flashes of green energy and the crippled automatons disappeared.

 _Automatic teleportation_? Such a technology would place this complex at the very top of research sites if it came to be known!

The silver-coloured things were taking immense casualties. There had to be three hundred-plus of them marching towards the Inquisitor, but none of them were firing their big weapons, which had to be a default in their programming. After all, guns were the logical choice for middle and long-range fighting. Chainswords, chainaxes and power fists were for cases when the enemy came at close-contact. But in a few moments it wouldn't matter. Already half of the automatons had fallen. The defences of the Vault of Infinity would not stop him. Over a score of Tarellians stopped moving and directly faced their opponents, pouring the maximum rate of fire in their silver ranks.

The enemy fired at last.

A hundred green rays of energy rushed on ten Tarellians. It was an awful butchery...literally. The horrific devices did not shattered the Dog-Soldiers or fell them. No, the green lights flayed them. It was like a nightmare, with the scales coming first, then the blood, the organs and then the bones, all in an accelerated choreography which should have been utterly impossible according to the laws of physics.

The Tarellians screamed in anger and replaced their empty las-batteries by new ones before pouring new volleys into the metallic warriors. Many fell, but the automatons had apparently no self-preservation and stood firm against the onslaught. Each of their horrific weapons was uncoordinated and erratic. But did it really matter when the rays which missed proved their ability to melt the silver-coloured ceiling walls and ceiling?

The masters of the throne room went down hard, but by the God-Emperor the price was steep. In this wide avenue it was impossible to find walls to take cover – the corridors were too far away and the enemy had weapons able to melt their own place – and for every automaton falling, one to two Dog-Soldiers were flayed by the green rays. When the last of these abominable constructions was dismantled by the fire of his personal plasma weapon and over thirty lasguns, the calm of the grave came back. Half of the Tarellians were dead and for no gain: the destroyed xenos equivalent of Skitarii had all been dematerialised.

"My Lord...we should retreat." Murmured his Acolyte. "These things are better armed than the Tarellians."

"Certainly not!" After over ten years of difficult investigations and billions of Thrones spent buying favours right and left, Inquisitor Colin Steadham was not going to back the headquarters empty-handed.

 _And Stradivarik will condemn me as soon as he arrives. I will not give him more ammunition_.

The Ordos Xenos representative was at this state of his reflexions when the 'clangs' were heard again. From the same overture, the silver automatons were coming back...the same automatons. Not believing his own eyes, Steadham watched incredulous the arms and the heads of the metallic units self-repaired the damage that had been inflicted by their lasers as they advanced. Obviously it had limits: a lot of automatons were rather the worse for wear and a visible minority were suffering of what would have been crippling rounds, crawling or falling out of formation, firing at inexistent targets. But they had been beaten before and now they were back, a miracle only the God-Emperor was said to achieve while He walked among Mankind.

There was only one order he could give before the flayer rays flew anew.

"Run!"

* * *

 **Colonel Daviev Larkine**

The attack of the Hive had begun at dawn as planned and for the moment it was going well. Too well, he acknowledged in the privacy of his mind. Larkine had known that the support of the Artillery of Andes and the bugs of his new Major combined with the local knowledge of the PDF were going to make their task easier than it should be but he had not expected such a walk-over.

The Basilisks had methodically pulverised the few batteries the Tarellians and the Penal convicts had under their control while at the same time local units had infiltrated themselves and opened the great gates. Once it had been done, the Fay 20th had entered the action, the Chimeras of the 2nd Company leading the Tauros and the Sentinels into the breach. The two thousand-strong force of hive-gangers, murderers and opportunist scum which had flocked to the banner of the rebels had been cut down after an extremely short and violent battle. A few of the Penal convicts had been willing to surrender but the denizens of the nearby blocks had left their homes once the outcome was clear. Once the horror stories had begun to spread, neither the Fay guardsmen nor their Wuhanese guides had been in favour of mercy. This part of the 4th Penal legion of Alamo had committed crimes ranging from the usual rapes and thievery to the much repugnant cannibalism and extreme torture. And for those violations of the _Lex Imperialis_ , there was only one sentence: death. The 3rd Company had executed it immediately under the thunderous cheers of the crowd and the offensive continued into the Hive, the angry men and women of Hive Asao providing the much needed scouting for the low numbers of the Guard.

The enemy had tried to counter-attack. Over three hundred Tarellians, armed with lasguns and heavier weaponry they had no doubt stolen from the Arbites and PDF armouries, had tried to ambush the 2nd and 3rd Companies once a gap had formed between them and the rest of the regiment.

"I have them in visual." Had said simply Taylor 'Weaver' Hebert and that had been in that. For a couple of seconds the superior of the Heroine of Fay had wondered how the Dog-Soldiers were going to be dealt with. Then the screams had started in the vox. The Tarellians had suddenly found within themselves a willingness to learn Low Gothic, promising to surrender if he "called back the spiders."

At first Daviev Larkine had thought his operators were playing a joke on him but the report of Captain Suhur Baltomin from the 4th Company had explained the reversal of Tarellian morale was indeed genuine. The Dog-Soldiers had not recognised beforehand that the place of their counterattack had had one of their sewers pierced by a Chimera shell. For the common Mechanised Infantry regiment of the Imperial Guard this would have had little importance. For the Fay 20th this meant two huge mutated spiders dripping acid and jumping across buildings as reinforcements. A swarm of flies and mother minor insects had emerged from the underground too. For the first time in their heretical lives, these xenos had learned the significance of the word 'fear' and thrown down their weapons in mass.

On one hand, this was good news for him since a surrender always translated in fewer men and women lost in battle. After the casualties they had taken against the orks at Petersburg and Fay, this was not a minor issue. On the other hand, it created an interesting dilemma. This dilemma in the last hour was becoming a real problem, in fact. And since it was not improving a meeting of the senior officers had been called in front of an intact church of the God-Emperor. Two Chimeras had barred each extremity of the street, guardsmen and Skitarii had placed themselves on the heights of this level, ready to shoot any sniper who had escaped the first hours of battle. At last Magos Explorator Lankovar arrived and the Colonel of Fay did his best to keep a calm and collected expression. In the last hours he had discovered he did not like at all the Tech-Priest. Assuredly the representative of the Mechanicus was their shield from the fury of the rest of the Imperium since they assaulted the Hive at his behest. But his behaviour was...bordering on the heretical and that was if he wanted to stay polite. The 'analysis' he made on every xenos and human corpse the cogboys gathered was horrible and he had been forced to make clear from the start no man or woman of Fay would be dissected in such a manner.

"We are taking too many prisoners, Colonel."

The voice of Commissar Zuhev was as stony as ever. There was no need for him to add another sentence: his views on the place of traitors and xenos were those of the Commissariat. Unfortunately or fortunately, the Fay 20th hadn't the ammunition to spare for the organisation of firing squads at every corner of the Hive. When it came to it, they had less than twenty thousand men to pacify a Hive where millions dwelled under the artificial lights.

"Our men and the PDF aren't coping well with the influx of captured enemies." Agreed Captain Steph Urskovoy, commanding officer of the 1st Company, looking at the data-slate a cogboy gave him. "We have seven hundred Tarellians, three thousand Alamo convicts and several thousand hive-gangers of the lower levels in our custody. And the numbers are still climbing." The mouth of the Captain slightly twitched under his blonde moustache. "Your spiders have been a bit too efficient, Major."

"It's not my fault they can't handle their own local species." The tone of the young woman was completely unrepentant. Unlike the majority of the men and women present, her modified armour was still pristine and bore none of the minor scratches or scars. No enemy or obstacle had had the occasion to wound her. As she had removed her helmet but not her rebreather, her voice was almost buzzing under the metallic apparatus. Her dark hair and the dozen or so beetles made her even more menacing under the moderate light of the Hive. "Besides, these spiders are flexible and cool."

'Cool' was not a term Daviev would have ever used to describe the great spiders. He had seen the monsters from a hundred meters away. The beasts were one meter tall, spat acid and the things they had at the end of their legs were sharp to impale a Tarellian whether the xenos wore armour or not. No, the spiders were completely terrifying. But Taylor Hebert was seemingly unable to really understand how terrifying her auxiliaries could be for the opposition. Perhaps it was a side-effect of her powers?

"If you want to keep them after the battle Major Hebert, a Mechanicus crew will have to handle the decontamination procedures." The voice of Lankovar was particularly creepy as the Magos consulted a dozen screens his servitors were manipulating all around him. "These specimens of _Gigantis Mutatis Arachnae_ are slightly radioactive."

"Fantastic." Whispered someone in the group of twenty or so guardsmen chosen for the security detail. "Mutated spiders and killing beetles. What's next?"

"Beat it." Laughed another and the chuckles resonated all around the officers before Captain Tanya Sevrev returned back to the matter at hand.

"Why don't we use them as our own Penal Legion? That way we will limit our casualties and the enemy will kill each other."

"It will not work for the Tarellians." Lankovar said in a blunt statement. "These xenos are mercenaries and unable to understand the glory of the Omnissiah. Deliver them to me and I will ensure they will not trouble you anymore."

Larkine shivered and as he observed his officers he saw he wasn't the only one. Every Fay Guardsman knew what the 'give them to me' implied. Yes, the Tarellians were xenos and a taint Mankind had to erase if they wanted to continue their domination of the stars.

"The xenos-crocodiles surrendered to us in good faith." Daviev was not sure what a crocodile was, but given Weaver's history it had to be an ancient reptile Terran species. "If we kill them now, I don't think it will bring honour to the regiment. And as much as the Imperium propaganda tells us to hate xenos, I remarked that the worst crimes we have met today have been done by the Penal convicts and their accomplices. The Tarellians have been fighting against armed opponents but remained relatively clean otherwise."

By the expression shown on Commissar Zuhev's face, this was not something he enjoyed listening to, and if he could have dismissed it, the heavily-augmented man would have in a heartbeat.

"I suppose you have a suggestion to deal with them, then?"

"We give the arbitrators and the PDF all our gang members and any convicts we have seen murder and rape." The tone Taylor Hebert was not the insecure young woman she used in the restrooms or off duty. It was not the one of a hardened commander...one who had made clear to every Fay company that if a man or woman under her command was observed rape someone, they'd pray for the mercy of the God-Emperor before she terminated them. So far, no Fay soldier had taken up the challenge. "We let the Andes guardsmen guard the xenos on the outward perimeters since their artillery is becoming less and less efficient."

"And the convicts you consider reliable?" Lankovar's emotionless sounded almost...disappointed the xenos weren't going to be given to him.

"We use them to track their former leaders in the underhive. So far, we haven't seen them and the communications which have been restored in the upper levels indicate they have descended the elevators. The Inquisitors must be somewhere and by deduction it must be under our feet."

"Let me take a Company and my Skitarii in the foundations of Hive Asao." Pressed the Magos Explorator. "Mars can't allow these traitors to seize blessed technology!"

And here came the matter he had prayed very hard to avoid. How do you reply to this sort of suggestion without endangering your relationship with the Mechanicus?

"With all due respect, I'm afraid our control of the Hive is still too shaky to think about that, Magos." Affirmed Steph Urskovoy. "We must continue and press on for the main armoury on level 48. There are also three secondary plasma reactors we need to-"

The earth shook beyond their feet and a sort of violent green flash illuminated the entire hive. Curses and insults were shouted from every quarter but fire discipline held and no enemy came out of the shadows to assault them. Ultimately after a few seconds of inquiries it was Captain Tanya Sevrev who spoke first.

"All those who believe the Inquisitors have dabbled in something way beyond their abilities to contain, raise your hand."

For the first time since he had taken command of the Fay 20th, Larkine saw his regiment answer in complete unanimity.

* * *

 **Somewhere in the entrails of the earth**

If the Artificial Intelligence controlling the Coreworld of the Horth Dynasty could have felt emotions, there would have been a high probability it would have been deeply offended. Fortunately, the Necron Cryptek who had built this complex had not done so. For all his faults and his personal vendetta against the ruling Overlord, the Necron architect had judged giving emotions to an entity which had been for ten thousand years treated like a worthless peasant was a bit too risky. It was 'better' to sabotage the Coreworld and induce a cascade of failures ranging from failures of self-repair mechanisms to the deactivation of programs supposed to protect the defences from tectonic plates' collisions.

Technically, the warriors who had just been sent to repel the vermin invading the Coreworld had been victorious. But the processors of the Artificial Intelligence didn't see it that way. The Thamoket Gate had been breached and the inner sanctum of the Horth dynasty sullied by an inferior feral species. It was an achievement entire hosts of Aeldari had utterly failed to accomplish sixty-five million years ago. But before the Long Sleep there had been millions of Necrons to form a first line of defence and world-shattering weapons behind them to support them in case their infamous molecular-shattering guns were unable to reduce the enemy into cinders.

These defences were long gone now. Their commanders were piles of rusted materials or crushed under the rocks which had buried the stasis chambers. The great Monoliths and the guardians had been dismantled in vain attempts to safeguard the core assets. The greatest reaction for the Artificial Intelligence had been able to muster was three hundred and ten strong, and to rally that many functional servants had been a hard and long endeavour. Moreover, it looked like even these warriors had seen their efficiency diminish to an unacceptable point. Reaction times were definitely sub-par, weapon accuracy had fallen by seventy-nine per cent and the casualty rate was disastrous for such a minor skirmish. Self-repairing mechanisms were failing not once, but multiple times, decreasing the number of operable units below half of their initial complement.

The strategic battlefield was not optimal and continued to worsen as the inferior vermin continued to pour by the Thamoket Gate, with more coming by the caverns the Artificial Intelligence itself had ordered dug to scavenge repair materials.

A complete war simulation was made. The Artificial Intelligence was forced to concede it had not the strength to repulse the invaders without reinforcements. The last Destroyer and a half-repaired Canoptek Wraith were released from stasis, but their offensive armament would give the Tomb-complex nine hours in the best simulation it had been able to compute.

The Artificial Intelligence could not tremble at the thought of despair but proceedings to unleash the small phalanx of Immortals accelerated. It was a risky gamble as it would lead the vaults dangerously unprotected and with the energy reserves so low...

Then the communication the Artificial Intelligence had regarded as its last possibility of victory came.

"Alkarekh-Sytharek-Ultharek-Bytherek. Priority 1547-A9587-14567."

A series of codes followed, more complex and voluminous than the ones the Administratum used to protect the picts-recordings of the Senatorum Imperialis on Holy Terra. The Artificial Intelligence compared the codes just transmitted to its immemorial list and accepted it. While it was not the identification of a code-bearer of the Horth Dynasty, this code belonged to an Honoured Overlord and the Artificial Intelligence processors were not programmed to take into account the six hundred and eighty thousand disputes with other dynasties and other Necron factions.

Anti-teleportation shields were lowered to allow the arrival of the intact warriors. Columns of green light opened and from the chronometric displacement devices marched phalanxes of warriors commanded by Immortals.

At the centre of his troops was the Honoured Overlord.

"The Priority Jethamahak is to defend the Tesseract Vault." Ordered the Necron noble, transmitting a long and detailed plan of attack to his troops and the Artificial Intelligence concurred. As scandalous as tolerating the vermin in these sacred halls was, it was a disgrace that had to be endured. If the Vault was breached and its prisoner released in the material realm, the survival of the Artificial Intelligence and everything nearby would be measured in seconds.

The processors of the unloving administrator did not stop examine the hundreds of perfectly-lined warriors pouring in his control room on the other hand, even if the speed of said examinations was rather low with the thousands of other preoccupations demanding its attention. But the symbols on the chest of the Immortals and the Overlord himself had evident discrepancies. These were not the honoured icons of the great Charnovokh Dynasty! These were the troops of-

"Infinite Override."

The weapons of the command room were all suddenly inactive and the Artificial Intelligence was rendered powerless. The very code it had acknowledged in the last milli-cycles were breaking his priorities, preventing millions of years old orders to be enforced. The Artificial Intelligence would retake control of course. But it would take a full cycle of the local star if the Overlord had not more surprises in reserve and previous interactions let the intelligence speculate the odds were not good.

"Oh, oh, oh. You're lucky I passed by, Szarekh would have exacted a terrible punishment if he knew your dynasty had gone against his orders."


	11. Peril 2-3 The Vault of Infinity

**Peril 2.3**

 **The Vault of Infinity**

 _The Necrons are one of the most redoubtable xenos races the Imperium of Mankind has ever had to fight across the stars. These metallic creatures are impossible to scare, incredibly difficult to destroy and their armament is ignoring so many laws of reality it is akin to sorcery no matter what the Tech-Priests say._

 _For all their strengths, it is evident the Necrons are a shadow of their former glory. The very technology they used to sleep through hundreds of thousands years was far from perfect and has resulted in the madness of at least five-sixths of their tomb-worlds. A large number of their most important citadels have not survived the aeons, resulting in a broken chain of hierarchy. Where before the Necrons would have mustered in an invincible tide of silver and green energy, their nobles are now fighting between themselves and pursuing old grudges. These xenos who regain consciousness have also lost a lot of their capacity for innovation and stratagems. The Crypteks of the Tomb-Worlds are often the sole beings able to understand and repair their terrible mechanisms and each loss of this particular techno-caste suffer is a grieving blow for their race._

 _However let's be no mistake: even this shadow is able to threaten the galaxy. The smallest Necron platoon is able to cause untold massacre if it is not stopped at the very start of its rampage. The smallest Necron army, commanded by a determined Overlord, can wipe out all existence on an Imperial World in a matter of hours. If the Imperial archives are so confused on the date of first contact with the Necrons, it is because many dynasties of these murderous xenos leave no survivors when they have the means and the opportunity. This is why the awakening of any Tomb-World always requires the formation of an elite strike force of Guard regiments led by Astartes companies at full strength. Unless the Imperial planet is a Fortress World or a Death World, there is little chance the local PDF will be able to resist these metallic xenos..._

Extract from a speech of Cadian General Kurtzer before the Kar Duniash academy cadets, 980M38.

" _The problem with Necron Tomb-Worlds is that you have to watch with extreme vigilance all the moves of your Mechanicus contingent_." Fay Colonel Aslevev, 114M38.

" _The Necrons have a really morbid sense of architecture_." Major Taylor 'Weaver' Hebert, 289M35.

" _Reload. They will come back_." Anonymous Imperial Guardsman.

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Moros Sub-Sector**

 **Wuhan System**

 **Wuhan II**

 **7.250.289M35**

Thought for the day: In courage we have no equals.

 **Major Taylor Hebert**

"FOR THE GOD-EMPEROR! FOR THE HOLY INQUISITOR OF GATHALAMOR! KILL THE HERETICS!"

Taylor sighed. Even if she had not had pushed her insects as scouts on this corridor, there was no way the soldiers under her command could have missed this stupid scream and the bellowing which came after. Not unless they were all deaf.

"They arrive by the passage at six hours. You know the drill." She said tranquilly in her comm-bead.

Nearly four hundred lasguns were pointed at the five metre-wide passage waiting for the fanatics to charge. In the mean time, her flies and the razorbeetles were killing here and there the officers in her range. At least she thought they were officers. They were better clothed, screamed louder and had better weapons. Not that it was saying much. The pre-Slaughterhouse Nine Merchants of Brockton Bay had had a similar level of organisation and discipline.

"At them for the God-Emperor!"

The men covered in rags and parchment emerged in the feeble light of the underhive square but it was too late. Their small weapons were too short-ranged and too few in numbers to do a difference. One Fay trooper fell on his knees screaming in pain when a red ray of light pierced his right arm but it was a lucky shot. The overwhelming majority of the 4th Company had taken cover behind solid pillars and the crumbling walls. The swords in bad state and the laspistols had no chance to go through rockcrete and ferrocrete.

"Fire!" Screamed Captain Suhur Baltomin, commanding the 4th Company of the Fay 20th.

Four hundred lasguns shot as one and the mass of screaming criminals and fanatics collapsed under the laser fire. It was a massacre. The Inquisitorial force had advanced in a mass so dense that no Fay gunner could truly miss. If you failed to shoot this shaven-skulled man in the torso, you got another one in the arm. And with the flies she put in their eyes and the beetles she used to bite their hand-wielding weapons, they could not even shoot back.

It was a massacre and she did her best not to throw up at the sight of the butchery. There was blood everywhere, human parts spread out on the walls and the floors and agonising enemies moaning, begging for someone to help them. Honestly, it was far better to kill orks. The green aliens were mad brutes, she didn't feel bad killing them that way.

Still, whoever had thought that laser weapons were more humane than bullets had not seen the spectacle she was looking at. The lasguns of the Guard when they were at their battle regulations hurt terribly and cauterised the place where it had hit. Shoot a man – or anything else living for that matter – and the result was not pretty to watch.

"Cease fire." The new Major ordered calmly but two platoons continued firing anyway. "Cease fire! Stop wasting ammunition!" Finally the lasguns stopped firing and Weaver designated the undisciplined soldiers to their Company Commissars. When this mess would be over, latrine duty and weapon maintenance would be their 'recompense'.

"We must be close from the Inquisitors." Weaver told Baltomin. "They're getting more desperate."

"True." Grunted the grey-haired Captain, watching with a grim look his wounded man receive field healing. "But we don't know how many Tarellians and Penal troops are still below us."

"I have a feeling we are about to discover it." She whispered grimly before forming one of her 'insect clones' in another gallery a hundred metres east next to Captain Tanya Sevrev.

"We have dealt with a one hundred-plus mix of zealots and penal troops." Taylor communicated and to their credit, the women did not jump or cower in fright like the last time they had seen her speak through the insects. "Any signs of Magos Lankovar?"

"Not a single one." Replied the blonde-haired Fay Captain. "We saw several dead Tarellians a few minutes ago, but it is difficult to say if they were killed by the Inquisition or the cogboys. Shall we continue on this section?"

"I don't think we will need to. My bugs have found a new access descending deeper into the foundations of the Hive. Take the corridor to the west and we will regroup in our search for the Magos."

Taylor did her best not to sound incredibly annoyed but really, what was Desmerius Lankovar thinking? The Imperial Guard had needed time to solidify their control over the most vital areas of the Hive, they couldn't just stop their jobs and go running into the unknown. There were tens of thousands men, women and children to protect! They couldn't abandon the reconquest of the Hive at the first flash of green light! But the Magos Explorator had done exactly that, running towards the source of danger with his Skitarii bodyguards as soon as it had been evident the rumours of the 'Vault of Infinity' had been true.

By the time the fusion reactors and the main avenues of the Hive were back under proper control, the Mechanicus detachment had long disappeared in the darkness. The Colonel had given her over three companies to discover where Lankovar had gone – though in practise it meant only two as the 8th Company was needed to guard their flanks and their rear as they descended into the underground.

"My spiders and the beetles will lead the advance." Taylor informed the 4th Company officers around her when she had finished communicating her instructions to the other guardsmen in range. "Be careful not to shoot anyone wearing a red robe."

Baltomin nodded quickly, followed by all the Lieutenants and the men in the vicinity. The guardsmen had complained a lot about the great mutated spiders in the beginning, but the dozen human-sized insects she had managed to take control over were amazingly efficient in terrifying the Tarellians and ambushing the rest of the enemies.

"We advance in three columns, and make sure to keep the melta guns and the flamers ready just in case."

"We didn't need them to beat these traitors." Protested a young black-haired man with the insignia of a sergeant and a posture which screamed 'arrogant' from a kilometre.

"And if we're careful we won't need them." Finished Commissar Zuhev on her right. The glare the political officer sent to the man promised a very lengthy disciplinary session after the battle. The young sergeant blanched – although now that Taylor thought about it, the man was older than her – as Zuhev was a very intimidating figure at the best of times with one eye and one arm replaced by metallic augmentation.

Minutes later the order to march again was given after everyone had the time to drink and eat enough to quiet their stomachs. No one complained as they left the square, alley and dark corridors behind. The further they went down in the underhive, the worse the place got. The middle levels of the Hive had been pleasant quarters to live in: certainly the houses and the shops were at a standard the wealthiest inhabitants of Brockton Bay wouldn't have complained about. According to the reports and the sources of information they had received, the spires were where the nobility lived so the conditions there had to be better. But in an inverse perspective, the more magnetic elevators they had taken to descend, the worse the conditions were.

Bit by bit the electricity, the lighting power and the temperature control disappeared. Law enforcement diminished with every step taken in the depths of Wuhan. The shops, the living conditions had become scarcer and poorer after two scores of lifts. After the third, they had arrived in areas not unlike the gang-controlled areas of Brockton Bay. The only difference...the gangs hadn't really been in control anymore.

Wuhan had a lot of Asian-looking people – but Weaver supposed the Imperium authorities did not even remember what Asia had meant in M3. Anyway, this local version of the Azn Bad Boys had not resisted long against the Inquisitorial shock troops and mercenaries. It looked like the nobles were at least more sensible than Brockton Bay Major and the PRT. These gangs had nothing but very light weapons and blunt masses, easily brushed aside by lasguns and bayonets.

When the attack arrived, it was brutal and merciless.

"Enemy contact two hundred metres away!" The bug-controller parahuman shouted as an enormous shadow got through the wall and literally tore one of her spiders apart.

God, the thing was ugly. It was silver–rusted in colour, a sort of big Terminator flying on a sort of metallic platform with flashing green lights. In one arm it held a gigantic gun coursing in the same unnatural energy. But what struck Weaver was the hate. Despite looking by the eyes and other senses of her insects, the parahuman of Earth Bet knew beyond doubt the thing hated her. It hated humanity. It hated everything.

Evidently, this thing had not expected to fight her. The swarm surged forwards along with two of her spiders, tearing the livid green eyes out, eating the strange cables...but it was taking far too long! What sort of material this robot was made of?

"Be careful!" She barked to the rest of the 4th Company on the radio. "They can come through the walls!"

The warning hadn't come too soon. Ten seconds later, smaller silver killer-automatons converged on their positions.

"For Fay and the Emperor!" An anonymous soldier shouted in the melee and the battle-cry was pronounced by hundreds of throats.

But the things attacking them did not die easily or painlessly. When she ruptured the source of energy of the big flying robot, it blew up. Thank whatever divinities of luck existed in this galaxy, her swarm had still been several hundred metres away from the vanguard of the 4th Company because the corridor was engulfed into green flames and for a moment Taylor was completely blind for this part of the battlefield. Whether it was due to instability or a self-destruct protocol, this explosion had killed her insects attacking the abomination.

"Get away from them!" The young Major ordered as two men tried to impale the robot with their bayonets. "They explode when they are too damaged to fight!"

The soldiers tried to withdraw while continuing to face the enemy but their death came from another direction as a last of the silver things appeared from the ground and slaughtered them with a green ray of doom.

One second, a human breathing, firing and fighting. The second after, he was a smoking skeleton, flayed of his flesh and his life. It was...awful.

She sacrificed another spider and two dozen razorbeetles to explode the eyes and every metallic part bathing in the green energy.

"COVER!" She commanded as the enemy fissured and disappeared into a green flash. Pleasant surprise, the shockwave and the damage was smaller and less intense. But for many of the men who had stood in the vanguard, it was too late. Over forty guards of the 4th Company had given their life...it was more than the double of their casualties in the entire Hive battle!

For the first time since they had entered Hive Asao, Taylor felt something unpleasant in her throat and her stomach. So far, the spiders and the razorbeetles had easily handled the Inquisition factions but this...nothing like these killer Terminator had been mentioned in the briefings. And her soldiers...many of them had died.

"Any ideas what were the things we just fought?" The former supervillain asked Commissar Zuhev, who looked so immaculate and fresh that it was difficult to believe he had just emptied three laser cells of his laspistol in one enemy's head.

"Judging by the absence of reports and the earthquake we noticed earlier...I think this must be the guardians of the Vault of Infinity."

"Great." When she caught Lankovar, she and the Magos were really going to have a conversation about NOT running into lethal battlefields like this one. Just before she forced him to pay pensions for all the troopers his stupidity had killed. "The Mechanicus is so going to owe us when we save their cog-skins."

* * *

 **Inquisitor Colin Steadham**

If they survived this adventure, Colin Steadham figured he would have to change the operational training of his Acolytes. They really got tired too quickly. Well, they died fast too, but he was unable to resurrect the dead thus nothing could be achieved on that front.

"My Lord...we seem...to have escaped...the abominations." Gasped the last representative of these men and women following him in service of the Ordos. Despite being in the prime of his youth – somewhere around twenty-four Terran years old – the signs were clear his red-haired subordinate had avoided the training rooms aboard the _Light of Intolerance_.

Correction: they really got tired too quickly and had the tendency to make poor judgements while they were exhausted.

"You make dangerous assumptions...Acolyte." He had really wanted to say something else but insulting your support was sure to backfire terribly at the first clash. "These horrors are unable to think by themselves, but they have a mobility we can't match."

Images of the second wave of automatons pursuing them through the walls were particularly vivid in his head. He had seen many horrors in his life, the job of an Inquisitor was hardly a pleasant opportunity to meet ancient friends in expensive ballrooms. But the abilities of these enemies...if he had not known better Colin Steadham would have labelled them as sorcery and witchcraft worthy of Exterminatus.

"Yes, my Lord but surely the troops of the traitorous Inquisitor Stradivarik must have attracted the attention of these things?" The respiration of the Acolyte was getting better, and the same was true of the three Tarellians that had followed them.

"Perhaps." His former colleague hadn't hired subtle followers to track him. "But until we have more evidence, I think it safer to assume we are not out of danger."

His eyes examined the cold environment they were surrounded with. A large hall with twenty-two series of columns all decorated with these weird green symbols. A few were pulsing with a sort of green energy shield, while many others appeared lifeless and damaged. The rest of the walls, the ground and the ceiling were the same cold grey-silver they had walked upon the entire length of the complex.

"It is quite obvious all information we managed to get on the Vault of Infinity are a fabrication at best, a great disinformation to trap and kill us at worst." The admission was painful but with only an Acolyte and three xenos with him, it was not as humiliating to say in front of a full Conclave of the Ordos Nyx. "These abominations represent a dire threat to His Most Holy Majesty's domain and must be defeated at once. We are going to go back to the surface and I will muster an army in the name of the Inquisition."

The mercenaries and the Acolytes nodded unanimously. It was good, because Colin Steadham had no idea where they were in this enemy fortress and how to find an exit.

"We advance and we overcome in His Name." The Inquisitor murmured.

The crossing of this xenos hall went without incident and the little group continued, one Tarellian leading up front and the two other closing the march. Human and xenos had all their personal weapons drawn and ready to fire...but the halls they crossed were deathly silent.

It was difficult to tell if they were going in the desired direction. All the halls they were discovering were similar. It was only the damage a lot of the columns, pillars and xenos scripts which allowed him to tell they were not walking in a full circle.

And the entire fortress had been severely damaged, the Radical Inquisitor was forced to acknowledge. Several corridors which should have provided alternate paths were buried under tons of rubble. Things that should have coursed with mega joules of energy were cold and lifeless, indicating a lack of maintenance or something more sinister. Twice the Tarellian marching ahead barked a warning and stepped back as great fissures appeared on great silver stairs.

The place was old and falling apart. Maybe it had also been pillaged in the last millennia. It certainly wasn't impossible, given that this construction appeared to predate the first time Man set foot on Wuhan Secundus.

The corridors, the halls and the various paths were disorientating. It didn't feel like corruption...but it didn't feel normal. Some archways looked they ignored the law of physics, a few stairs felt like they were descending but the efforts to climb them showed their mortal eyes could not be trusted. And they hadn't seen a plan or anything which could serve this function. Estimating the time they had passed walking and searching their way was an exercise in futility. His Inquisitorial chronometer – a marvel of engineering given to him by the Lord Governor of the Vidar Sector in person – was erratic and at several moments indicated three days had passed before announcing they had just spent minus ten minutes inside these ruins! It was maddening. Not only the laws of physics didn't apply to this place, it seemed time had also decided to ignore this xenos lair.

"My Lord?"

"Yes?"

"I saw some insects in this corridor to our right." Inquisitor Colin Steadham turned his head in that direction but the zone was in the shadows and his eyes were not augmented.

"Are you sure?" There had been no trace of anything organic save what they had brought with them. The killer-automatons were all built in a material the Mechanicus would damn itself twenty times to bring back to Mars...and everything they had seen until now was formed of various xenos metals and supraconductors components. Insects were not much, but it was perhaps a sign the exit was not far.

The Acolyte took first position, Steadham was following close and the three Tarellians formed the rear-guard this time. After twenty seconds of progression, the Inquisitor was forced to recognise his subordinate had indeed seen insects. A pity they weren't living.

"The xenos weren't content to build metal automatons...they built insects of the same colour too."

An impressive colony of scarabs – at least they looked like scarabs – was flowing on the ground and converging near them. For a second or two he evaluated the risk they were going to attack, but this danger didn't materialise. The insects were all going in the direction of a gigantic gate not unlike the first one they had exploded with melta charges.

"My Lord, I have a bad feeling..." Whined the Acolyte.

"Silence." Ordered his Master, but inside Colin Steadham wasn't exactly confident. What was beyond this gate to attract metallic constructs? The closer they came, the more the silver gate looked impressive...and ruined.

Where his party had blown away one hole into the outer gate, this one had been pierced in no less than three places, these holes allowing the scarabs to ignore the obstacle. This wasn't the only difference, however. Until this point, doors, throne room, gates and walls had been almost devoid of decoration, with the exception of these green symbols carved anyway. But this one was richly decorated and was representing a scene of...battle.

Disappointing but not unexpected, a good part of the gold inscriptions and the precious metals which had been used as decoration had been seriously damaged. The traces of rust were surprisingly absent – another temporal anomaly no doubt – but here and there a few scenes could be deciphered. One represented long-eared xenos that could be none other than the perfidious Eldar – Colin saw with amusement the artist had perfectly described the sheer arrogance of the xenos. The second was describing the silver automatons they had just escaped from. By the looks of things, they were in the middle of their equivalent for a triumph. And the third...the third showed a silver entity half-scarab half-humanoid. Its appearance looked...wrong. The Inquisitor of the Ordos Xenos was not a psyker, but the simple gravure of this entity was emanating a feeling of hate and dread.

Before he could give a counter-order, his Acolyte has went though one of the holes and emerged on the other side.

"My Lord...there is a sort of cube here!"

"A cube?" Steadham frowned. The more they explored, the less this strange bastion made any sense at all.

But when he emerged on the other side, the reality of the words sunk in. It was indeed a black cube...although the term did not do it justice. There were mini-cubes of multiple colours enjoyed by the nobility of several Imperial worlds to amuse themselves in challenges of logic and rapidity. This 'cube' however, was the size of a battle-tank.

And it was suspended in the air by nothing but a sort of force-field of green energy.

"My Lord...the scarabs!"

The silver insects were escalading the walls by their thousands and once they had reached a sufficient altitude, they were throwing themselves at the mysterious black cube. Many were crushed by the green energy shield, but these scarabs had evidently the same repair properties of the larger automatons.

How long has this activity been happening? Decades, hundreds of years? But the army of small silver insects had done its task well. On certain surface of the cube, silver thrills of energy were coalescing, as the cube was partially cracked.

"It's not a cube." The realisation made him shiver. "It is a prison." Now he understood why this part of this fortress had been so derelict and abandoned. It had been deliberate; a feat of engineering put in place to make sure no one would find this room until it was too late. And it was too late, the scarabs had done too much damage.

"We should have never come here." He declared, trying to keep his calm and wondering what sort of heavy weapons he could use to destroy this entire place. "This prison...this Vault of Infinity should not have been opened. Let's get out of here. I will send a message to the nearest Deathwatch fortress, they will have corrosive substances able to deal with this xenos infection..."

 _ **No...I am Endless**_.

The sheer power of this sentence hurt. A deep irrational sense of fear troubled his thoughts. Debris of the cube fell to the ground...the green energy of the shield flickered but held. How long this would continue to be the case, Steadham had no idea and he was not ready to bet on it.

"We evacuate. We must bring back news of this thing to the Inquisition in the name of the God-Emperor."

And as they ran out of the breached gate, Inquisitor Colin Steadham prayed for the cube to last a little bit longer.

* * *

 **Sergeant Gavreel Forcas**

According to the teachings his instructors had put in his head when he had been inducted in the ranks of the Astartes, two sayings seemed particularly appropriate at this moment. First, no plan survived contact with the enemy. Secondly, wherever you found an abandoned ruin, there was a high probability you were going to meet Mechanicus forces investigating what should not be investigated.

"FOR THE EMPEROR AND THE FIRST!"

"THE QUEST OF KNOWLEDGE NEVER ENDS!"

"THE GOD-EMPEROR PROTECTS!"

One Astartes –that was him – a contingent of the Mechanicus cybernetic warriors and a band of fanatics the Emperor would have terminated in an instant if he had become of this mindless idolatry. None had many reasons to trust the other, but circumstances had forced them together.

Minutes ago, the Sergeant of the Calibanite Defence Force would have said this was impossible. But minutes ago, he had not been facing mindless automata bent on wiping them out.

"The Abominable Intelligence must be destroyed!" Snarled the leading Mechanicus man, using a very big plasma gun to tear apart the head of the closest abomination. The power of the shot could have fallen one of the Great Beasts of his homeworld. Against this metallic opponent however, the amount of destruction inflicted was not enough. The automaton phased out in a flash of green, but Gavreel had had his transhuman eyes fixed on the thing. The repair procedures had already begun.

This was...less than optimal. Despite his efforts to save the ammunition, his bolter had no shells anymore to fire, leaving him only the _Sword of Perseverance_ to slay these enemies. It was better than nothing, but the Dark Angel legionary would have preferred something more powerful and long-ranged.

Mindless the enemy may be, but these green-ray guns were incredibly dangerous. Gavreel had seen many of the so-called 'Inquisitorial elite' next to him be butchered by these flayer-guns. He had really no intention to verify if the reinforced ceramite would hold against a molecular-breaker weapon able to liquefy flesh and bones. Two more silver enemies went down as he slew them with his power sword. With them this entire wave had been disassembled...but his ears told him a new wave was coming –the same enemies for all he knew.

"We can't stay here, Magos." Granted the cogboy had not given him his rank, but the rapacious attitude of Mars concerning unknown technology did not seem to have changed a great deal. Perhaps their ranks hadn't too.

"Affirmative." The voice did his best to sound a bit mortal, but Astartes ears were far better than those of an unaugmented human. He knew the emotions were generated by a voice modulator, leaving him wonder what sort of modifications had occurred behind this seemingly normal face. "Suggested course of action?"

"We must withdraw to a more advantageous position in the tunnels." Declared the Legionary. They were in this large and cold throne room, offering no cover at all and plenty of space for their enemies to laminate them with these green rays. Had thirty or forty Astartes been present with the appropriate support –plasma and volkite weapons for example – they would have prevailed. But the guns of the Mechanicus and his sword were the only weapons they had to damage these automatons.

"No!" The snarl came from the so-called 'Inquisitor'. Morgaur Stradivarik, this brainless and bloodthirsty piece of humanity had presented itself. Tall for a mortal – roughly two metres in height – his hairs had been curt short and there was a nasty scar on his left jaw. Apart from these facial characteristics, the fanatic held a chainsword in his two hands and his white clothes were literally strained with blood. By the Lion's sword, who went to war in white with robes impossible to clean?

"We must hold! The God-Emperor will grant us victory!" The survivor of Caliban had to resist the sudden urge of dirtying his sword with this cretin's blood. "With an Angel of Death to our side, we can't be defeated!" It was a good thing Gavreel wore his helmet, because his expression of anger was not pretty to see. That was it? An imbecilic belief that in the end, the Emperor was going to lead them to victory? What about proper tactics based on firepower and the judicious application of existing strength?

Just as the last words of this fanatic were uttered, the new wave of automatons came in, their lifeless eyes flashing in green light and their weapons ready to dispense death. Two members of Stradivarik charged, screaming things that made absolutely no sense, and were immediately slaughtered by over thirty concentrated green rays when they were ten metres away from their targets.

"In the name of the Omnissiah, return to oblivion!" The Skitarii opened fire in a coordinated salvo, shredding pieces of metal, distorting the deathless formation and removing from this reality nearly the entirety of the first line. But like before, the advance continued unabated. This had to be a failure in their programming, these xenos guns were far longer-ranged than the plasma rifles of the Mechanicus...and yet they progressed without returning fire.

It was worth to note that all this time, the so-called 'Inquisitorial elite' was firing blindly at the enemy in manners which worked very well in holographic space operas, but far less in real conditions.

Not bothering with a warning, the Sergeant Astartes grabbed one of the worst shooters and used it to intercept a flayer blast as he sprinted towards the enemy. By the time he arrived in contact, there was only a burning skeleton left but this fanatic had been useful for once in his life.

"For the Throne of Terra!" He shouted, launching a formidable thrust in the silver ranks that sent four robots of the second rank in the remaining abominations, disorganising completely their lines. The cohorts of Mars profited from the opportunity to pick the enemy one by one. They were winning...too bad he couldn't use these weird guns bursting with green energy. They looked incredibly useful, far more advanced from M30 tech...but they were also gene-coded and refusing to fire when he pressed the trigger. Oh, and a self-destruction code was activated at the third attempt. It made good improvised grenades, if it was any consolation.

The automatons were killing many humans anyway, but it was clear this wave would not be their doom and-

"By the Motor Force! They are coming out of the walls!" The exclamation was the only thing that saved him. He rolled to the ground while removing the weapon arm of the last enemy, just as three blasts of green struck the place he had fought a second before. In the case of a shot, he had not been fast enough and the nearly-miss was enough to give an ugly green trace...fortunately the colour of the Dark Angel Legion was black. It wouldn't be noticeable.

"Pattern Cyclades! Rapid fire, eliminate the enemies of the Omnissiah!" The Magos ordered. Gavreel slammed into the new arrivals, destroying ten in as many seconds but it was not the easy victory the first automatons had represented.

These new automatons were taller, armed with big guns and sported a new set of colours. Whereas the first ones were close to one metre and seventy-five centimetres tall, those were close to two metres. There were not silver, but a greyish-black. Their guns were still lighted green, but they were the double the size of their lesser 'cousins'. But the frightening thing was the rapidity and the initiative. By the looks of things and the terrible way, they were looking at the human group, these automatons were certainly not mindless.

They were inferior to him, yes. But they were certainly not inferior to the Skitarii and the rest of the fanatics in rags. As he cut one of the dark robots in the legs, he watched two warriors of the Mechanicus be disintegrated and five Inquisitorial imbeciles transform themselves into torches.

Morale was failing and thus Gavreel Forcas did what he hated the most: giving a vibrant battle-speech.

"SMASH THESE ABOMINATIONS! FOR THE EMPEROR! KILL THE XENOS! DESTROY THE XENOS!"

But his efforts were in vain. These black automatons were scaring the morals far more than one of the Emperor's Chosen. And given that they were coming out of nowhere, the men who tried to flee were immediately cut down by self-repairing automatons.

Second per second, the number of living decreased at an alarming rate. A shot grazed his leg, lighting an alarm in his helmet and the Dark Angel of Caliban gritted his teeth in hate. He could not die! Not like that, killed under the earth with his gene-seed non-harvested and his deeds forgotten!

But they were few to remain standing as the circle of silver and onyx closed. The Magos, the Inquisitor and five Skitarii were fighting for their lives and-

"What in the name of the Emperor is that?"

The metallic enemies situated on the side he had come from came under assault without any warning. Once instant, there was nothing. The second after, an angry swarm surged at the automatons and began to tear them apart. And they weren't alone. Following the flying mass of chitin the gigantic spiders which had left him such a memorable experience in the sewers rushed in the melee.

Whatever programming these abominations had in their data-bases, it had not been updated to face situations like this. In the time it took the Astartes to destroy two more enemies, all the elite black automatons exploded though they took two spiders and plenty of other insects with them when they flashed out.

Silence. Deep Silence. For the first time, the Sergeant stayed honestly open-mouthed in shock. Their enemies had just been pulverised. The giant spiders and the swarm of insects left were waiting patiently, their destructive task accomplished. And his stupefaction was not lessened when seconds later the Magos spoke to the swarm.

"Your timing was impeccable, Major Hebert."

It was ridiculous...and then the buzzing creatures coalesced in a humanoid shape.

"You are welcome, Magos Lankovar." It was ingenious, the stunned mind of the Astartes had to admit. The insects were producing noise on different frequencies, giving the illusion a human spoke in front of them. "My troops will be here in two minutes. Perhaps you should try not to go explore without a proper escort next time."

"Ah...yes." It was virtually impossible, but Gavreel would swear in the days afterwards he heard contrition in the Magos' voice. Then the insects returned to a more natural state.

"This is heresy!" For a moment, both Mechanicus and Dark Angel representatives had more or less ignored the Inquisitor. It appeared to have been an error. Stradivarik was literally spitting such was his fury. Each word was also given more weight with menacing moves of his chainsword. "You consort with forces-"

This was as far as he got before one of the Skitarii smashed the butt of his plasma rifle in his neck.

"Why didn't you kill him?" Asked the Space Marine. This fanatic really deserved the death and keeping a prisoner in this danger-ridden battlefield was too risky, in his opinion.

"It would be a waste of ammunition."

* * *

 **Major Taylor Hebert**

Taylor had seen the statues before the gates leading to the Hall of Glory, of course. They had been very big and outrageously decorated – like most of the things in this part of the Hive-capital. At the time, she had assumed these decorations were one more level of propaganda atop the rest. These marble sculptures were supposed to glorify the God-Emperor's Space Marines, the elite defenders of humanity. They were called _Angelica Mortis_ in High Gothic, the weird hybrid of Latin which had become a very upper-class language in the Imperium. The translation was not difficult to make: the Angels of Death.

Yet when she had had asked information about these formidable warriors to Colonel Larkine and Commissar Zuhev, the two had been unable to tell her how much was boasting for the vids-captures and how much was reality. It was rumoured on the military vox-nets that there had been an intervention in the Calypso System which was supported by these mythical warriors. But neither the Fay 20th nor for that matter any Fay personnel had seen it. Indeed, none of the Guard and PDF regiments on Wuhan had met a Space Marine in their lives.

In hindsight, she should have asked Magos Desmerius Lankovar first...although no one had suggested they would find a Space Marine fighting in the dreary grey and silver alien construction under Hive Asao!

When she watched the armoured shape for the first time while destroying right and left the killer-robots threatening the Mechanicus detachment, the bug-controller had thought her insects' senses were somehow altered.

But no. There was indeed a Space Marine fighting side to side with the cyborgs of the Mechanicus...and he was as monumental as propaganda and the statues had made it.

Taylor had met and fought Lung twice. She had participated in two Endbringer fights, several gang wars in Brockton Bay – or the same war depending on the perspective – but there was something humbling facing this armoured figure.

The Space Marine was over two metres and fifty centimetres tall. Its armour was largely black though the emblem on its chest – a large sword encircled by a halo and wings - was silver and the one on its shoulder was red. There were a few other markings but on the whole from head to toe the armour proclaimed this was a warrior you really, really wanted on your side and not on the enemy's.

The weapons it held only supported this affirmation. Weaver had already seen heavy bolters fixed on the top of the regiment's Chimeras thus it wasn't difficult to recognise a portable gun of the same family hanging to the giant's belt. The recoil had to be monstrous when fired...she was sure that if she tried to wield this kind of weapon, the recoil would tear her arms apart. But the blade surpassed it easily. Having made the distinction between the chainsword issued to all officers and the power swords few could afford to wield, the parahuman teenage girl recognised this weapon as the latter. It was a work of beauty and death, the pommel and the guard of the blade being exquisitely fashioned...and it had suffered no damage whatsoever from hours of battle.

This was when the Space Marine was immobile and viewed from the sight of insects. In person and when it moved...it moved with fluidity and a speed that was...awesome. For the record, it was only walking. But it emanated power, confidence and something that she didn't manage to really describe.

She had met the Triumvirate in briefings and battles, but this gigantic soldier was something else. The red lenses were piercing your soul. Each of its moves was deliberate and implacable, showing how easy it could crush your head like a normal human crushed an egg. After three seconds of hesitation, she managed to find the words to present herself.

"Major Taylor Hebert of the Fay 20th Mechanised Infantry of the Guard." She sincerely hoped her nervousness and the weakness in her voice had not been too evident...well, at least she was not in the same state the boys and girls of the two companies following her.

Half of them had bents their knees and were at the very limit of prostrating themselves on the cold hard ground. The remaining of her command troops were staring with their mouths wide open like idiots.

"Sergeant Gavreel Forcas, Dark Angel Legion." The voice which came out of the speakers on each side of the helmet was powerful and the very image one expected from such a terrible fighter: fearless, redoubtable. "Thank for your assistance, Major."

"Err...thanks." What do you say in such a situation, by the Simurgh? "We did only our duty..."

The Sergeant Space Marine chuckled. It was not an unpleasant sound; it was like a great tree was trying to laugh while caught in blasts of winds. "You did a bit more than that." The threatening black helmet turned in direction of the giant spiders under her control. "We never thought about weaponizing insects, I admit."

"People always underestimate bugs." The former supervillain was well aware she was blushing and some of the soldiers behind her were snickering, well that would not do. "Back into formation everyone! I want a correct defence of the perimeter before we evacuate!"

Captains Baltomin and Sevrev saluted and started shouting orders to reform the fighting companies in proper formation. For a potential fighting against the automatons, this was a very loose one, with each soldiers separated from its neighbours by at least a metre. Firepower was good, but these green-lit weapons were completely insane. No armour, no wall, no technology was able to stop them...it was better to avoid with the maximum of mobility and retaliate.

"Evacuate?" By his expression and his tone, the Magos was apparently bewildered someone didn't want to remain in this horrid and cold place. "In our moment of triumph? But I haven't found the Vault of Infinity and took samples from these fascinating technologies!"

The young Major repeated ten times in her head that she could not scream at the being manufacturing all her equipment before opening her mouth again.

"Magos. We can't stay here. The 4th and 2nd Companies have lost eighty-one men in the skirmishes against these horrors, thirty of them severely wounded and fifty-one killed. You have lost most of your escort. When the enemy comes back –and it will, make no mistake – we will not been able to endure a full-blown assault without heavy losses. I have exactly nine hundred and seventeen men here and my swarm has received heavy losses; this is not enough to fight these machines of murder. The more we destroy them, the more they repair and come back."

"You want your entire regiment to deal with them?" The enunciation of her losses, good men and good women having given their life in the Guard's service, did not appear to trouble a lot Lankovar. Seriously had all Mechanicus personnel learnt to get rid of their emotions for the love of technology?

"Ideally I want the entire Wuhan PDF and all the Guard regiments in a circle of twenty light-years." She replied frankly. "They are not well trained but at least we would have a lot of guns-"

The second of the Fay 20th had not the opportunity to tell Desmerius Lankovar that his stupidity was getting all of them killed if his behaviour didn't change.

From about fifty metres on their left, two humans and three of the bipedal crocodiles ran out, expressions of terror on their faces that could not be possibly simulated. And while the 'Tarellian Dog-Soldiers' were not very recognisable, one of the two humans was. This was one of the two wayward Inquisitors...and the Magos Explorator had already neutralised one. Perhaps this wasn't going to be a bad day after all.

"Run!" Screamed the man who had presented himself as Inquisitor Colin Steadham to the Wuhanese authorities. "Flee, you fools!"

This was...the wrong thing to say. Taylor had not exactly been short on details when she had explained the reasons they were assaulting Hive Asao...the Fay guardsmen knew exactly who was to blame for the current disaster. As a result, over eight hundred guns were directly pointed at the five newcomers.

"Colin Steadham or whoever your name is." Began Captain Tanya Sevrev, a very vindictive smile on her lips. "You are under arrest! Throw down your weapons and surrender!"

"We have not the time for this idiocy!" Barked the man, more agitated than ever and not showing a sign to disarm. "We must-"

This was the moment the orchestra started to play. It started with grave notes, before rising and rising like a classical symphony. It was sonorous and vibrant, like one of those songs the film is playing before the great battle is about to begin.

A few privates clapped their hands and cheered, but the stern expression of Zuhev and his subordinate Commissar stopped them immediately. The music continued however and then they came out of the dark in neat phalanxes.

They were hundreds of them this time. Ranks upon ranks of robots, and this time these were not models who looked they had spent thousands of years rusting in a dusty vault. No, these ones were light silver in colour, the green energy of their weapons shone malevolently and the way they turned their head showed these futurist version of Terminator were not suffering from bugs in their programming. And the symbols on the equivalent of their chests were not identical to those they fought earlier. And when at about thirty metres from the first lines, they stopped.

This was bad. Watching rapidly with her bugs, the parahuman rapidly estimated she had a minor advantage in numbers but in firepower, this new enemy force outmatched them completely. Why hadn't they already fired in fact? They had had the advantage of surprise, there was no reason to squander it for music and giggles...

It was at the moment of the crescendo that another robot made its entrance. This one was wearing...well a uniform. Sort of. The being was forged in the same silver, but it had a sort of headgear that had an Egyptian theme and a sort of a parade armour richly decorated in emeralds and gold. Strangely, the late arrival had no gun or anything looking like a weapon in his hands. Instead he had a sort of slate which was roughly the size of one the Tablets of Stones from the Bible.

"Behold!" Declaimed the metallic creature. To Taylor and the rest of the audience astonishment, the word had been pronounced in a flawless Low Gothic. "He is the Victorious Hero of Txalataq, the Strategist of Firan, the Survivor of Hierek! He fought no less than three hundred and forty thousand battles in the War in Heaven! He defeated three mighty hosts of Aeldari at the Great Triumph of Sorolak! He is the Supreme Overlord of Solemnace and commander of six hundred millions Necrontyr warriors!

It was good she needed her hands to hold her lasgun because otherwise Taylor would have face-palmed. What the hell? Like in a royal court, the leader of these robots was preceded by a herald?

The first part of the litany had been the sort of exploits conquerors were all quite happy to admit. But as the minutes passed, it got...weirder.

"He acquired the Jewel of the Aeldari Princess Kaliel in the heart of the Taclir Heartshrine! He administered six Core Worlds and used their resources to collect the Sunburst Cannons of Loc! He owns the Core of Yatekh and the Crown of the Charnovokh Dynasty!"

Was the robot's master a thief? Because from the uncountable clues disseminated in this speech, it seemed to be the case. In all honesty, Taylor was not going to throw stones: after all, her first action as a member of the Undersiders had been to rob a bank. It would be a little hypocritical to judge.

On the other hand, she hadn't gone face to face with the bank owners and unmasked to let them know exactly who had robbed them.

It was as the heralds finished his interminable speech that she felt them. They were insects in her range...and yet while she took control of them after a sort of...resistance, she couldn't see them. At best when she ordered them to coalesce around one of her fingers, the bug-controller could see a faint shiver in the air. These insects were microscopic...what had these silver aliens tried to do?

"He is relentless in his quest for the rarest objects of this galaxy! He is Trazyn the Infinite Collector!"

Just as the last word was uttered, a new music resonated in the empty throne room and at last the commander of the robots made its entry. It was another of these silver Terminator-things, but greater in size and far more richly clothed. His cuirass was of gold, green and violet. On his shoulders was posed a great cape of violet ornamented with feathers of silver. In his right hand was a sceptre full of sapphires and emeralds.

"Welcome to Vatalek, Coreworld of the Horth Dynasty!" Exclaimed the chief of the machine army, like they were not facing each other ready for war. "It is rare to have so many visitors, but don't worry I promise you the reception will be to your tastes!"

If most of the audience didn't know how to answer, it was the Inquisitor –almost forgotten in the confusion – who spoke.

"You are an abomination!"

"This is not a very nice thing to say." The creature which had been presented as Trazyn replied. "And here I was...where is this book? Ah, yes." The stupefaction of the guardsmen and guardswomen was total as the machine extracted a copy of the _Imperial Infantryman Uplifting's Primer_ from a mini-green cube. "I come in peace!"

The silver head turned comically over the pages of the useless propaganda book. "This is how we are supposed to introduce ourselves, no?"

"In the name of the Lion, what are you?" Roared the Space Marine, who had apparently run out of patience.

A terrible earthquake was the answer. For a second or two Taylor feared it had been a trap all along but the Necrons were similarly thrown off balance.

"I warned you!" Steadham screamed like a madman. "I warned you!"

The vibrations of the floor went out of control. Standing on your own was getting incredibly difficult. It was approximately twenty seconds after this that the throne at the other extremity of the hall exploded in big fragments. From the hole thus created, floated a silver humanoid thing.

They were maybe a kilometre away from this thing, but she had no wish to come closer. Silver streaks of lightning were projected, and a sort of metallic carpet was moving under it as it moved.

"Damn this Cryptek!" Groused Trazyn. "I knew he had sabotaged the complex but to this point..."

 _ **Trazyn! Betrayer!**_

The creature had not spoken conventionally, but Taylor had heard it nonetheless and so had the regiment. What was that? Telepathy? And the hate...if the first machines they had met were full of hate, these were mere tantrums compared to the feelings of loathing this flying thing was giving.

Judging the best way to have an answer was to ask, the exiled from Earth Bet addressed the megalomaniac robot.

"What is this thing?"

"That, dear human, is the shard of a C'Tan." The last word was pronounced in an aggressive and distasteful manner.

"In your limited language, you would translate it as Star God."

The violet cape moved slightly and for the first time the voice of the silver machine had hints of fear.

"This is Iash'uddra. The Endless Swarm."


	12. Peril 2-4 The Endless Swarm

**Peril 2.4**

 **The Endless Swarm**

 _It is an old saying one can estimate the value of a person by the number and the strength of his or her enemies. Common soldiers of His Most Holy Majesty have generally hundreds of them. Officers have thousands. Heroes of the Imperium and legendary generals have millions of them. But nowhere this proverb was more justified than in Saint Taylor's example._

 _All her life the most famous Heroine of the Nyx Sector held the line against uncountable enemies._

 _Yet among these legions of Traitors, Mutants, Heretics and Aliens Lady Weaver erased from the surface of this galaxy, there are foes which stand above the rest of the vermin tides. Some of these beings were so powerful that few but the Emperor's own Angels of the Death had the strength to mount an effective resistance. These abominations and monsters are thankfully long gone, and the souvenir of their heretical and treacherous deeds has faded away._

 _Then there were the Endbringers, the name by which the eight Great Enemies of the Saint were known. Victories against these entities have been celebrated on millions of worlds and hundreds of thousands awards recompensed the Emperor's Faithful who helped Saint Taylor against these dreadful threats._

 _By the declassified reports the military authorities and the Inquisition have rendered available today, the first time one of the Endbringers was battled by Saint Taylor took place during the year 289M35 on the world of Wuhan._

 _The opponent was Iash'uddra, better known as the Endless Swarm. It was to be the first confrontation between the shard the silver life-eater and soldiers of the Imperium. It would not be the last._

Preaching of Cardinal Greyer at the Great Cardinal Council of Weaveria-Syr, 120M41.

" _You have enemies? Why, it is the story of every man who has done a great deed or created a new idea_." Victor Hugo, 1845.

" _They are those to say that escape is the only good tactic when meeting one of these eternally-cursed 'Star Gods'. But where do you flee when the enemy is able to kill you thousands of kilometres away?_ " anonymous Imperial officer.

" _To fear the C'Tan is simply common sense_." Trazyn the Infinite, 605M13.

" _One shard is nearly impossible to destroy and has powers the most powerful Trumps of Earth Bet could only dream of. I don't think I want to see what one looks like at full power..._ " Major Taylor Hebert, 289M35.

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Moros Sub-Sector**

 **Wuhan System**

 **Wuhan II**

 **7.252.289M35**

Thought for the day: Against the Alien and the Traitor there is no fair way to fight.

 **Major Taylor Hebert**

"This is Iash'uddra. The Endless Swarm."

 _ **Trazyn. Die**_!

And on this sinister command, the silver monster opened fire. Taylor had seen the green blasts of the automaton weapons. They were ridiculous compared to the death ray the C'Tan generated. One second Iash'uddra directed what could pass for an arm towards the machines. The next it was like the End of Times itself had answered the Star God.

It was like someone had decided to use a mini-Death Star in the huge throne room. The infernal ray slammed into the immobile lines of Trazyn's soldiers and turned them into metallic debris, melting the metal constituting them and distorting a minority like a capricious child played with toys.

"Fire! Fire at will!" she shouted in the comm-bead and the insects disseminated across the two companies informed her she wasn't the only officer to suddenly bark orders on all military frequencies. Not a very good coordination, but it was excusable as the saw the C'Tan passing his nerves on the Necrons.

Nine hundred lasguns fired in an interval of two seconds. Given the terrain and the distance, it was not easy to miss and indeed the majority of the laser fire was dead on target...except that moments before impact, the wave of tiny metallic insects surged forwards and projected itself like a rampart of silver liquid. A few dozen fell of these protectors fell when they were hit by the weapons of the Imperial Guard, but otherwise the C'Tan had withstood the attack without problem.

The being turned...his head? Or at least the body part which appeared to fulfil the same role in a human body and it was not difficult to guess the predominating emotion fuelling the materials composing it.

 _ **Die**_.

Desperately, Weaver activated the dorsal reactors in her back and jumped away as fast as she could all the while commanding the Fay men and women to break formation and run away. The 2nd Company reacted fast to her orders but the 4th was too slow.

A second tempest of death came from nowhere and tore apart the Fay first lines. For an instant it was like a rain of blood and body parts had decided to flood the battlefield. Her last remaining huge spiders, right in the path of the attack, ceased to exist and the last images she was able to see told her how an awful manner of dying this was.

 _ **Die! Die**_!

The C'Tan, Star God or not, was completely insane. It was quite mad and too powerful, the worst combination possible...just her luck to fall on something which was this galaxy's equivalent of the Endbringers.

"RETREAT! RETREAT!"

"For the First Legion and for Caliban!" the thunderous war-cry soared in the air and the move was so quick it was like the gigantic Space Marine had teleported itself in front of Iash'uddra. The two-handed sword of the black-armoured colossus struck - it was a weapon which had to be nearly as tall as she was - in a deathly arc and this time the wall of insects exploded under the impact.

And for the first time, Taylor felt her control over some of the metallic objects kick in. Completely weird, her power was supposed to work only on living bugs but parahuman powers always came with a heavy dose of weirdness.

Not that she had the opportunity to explore the mysteries of her abilities. The Space Marine's blade had stopped against the skin or whatever was covering the C'Tan. Judging by the tightening of his grip and the effort he was putting in his strikes, the gigantic soldier was giving all he had...and he wasn't able to pierce the protections of his inhuman adversary.

Said adversary by the way didn't appreciate someone trying to stab him with a large weapon and retaliated by gathering a flow of the metallic wave in a very ugly and sharp blade in the back of the Space Marine. Seconds before it struck, Weaver deflected the fatal blow to the left with the flies and the new metallic bugs she had taken control.

 _ **Incomprehension**_.

The black Space Marine did not let the opportunity pass and the second the C'Tan froze a new attack on the upper body of their enemy where the visage was coming. It had no effect whatsoever. The silver material blocked the great sword without a scratch.

Then the metallic bugs she had hijacked poured from the rest of the metallic torrent to attack the lower parts of the C'Tan and this time, a horrifying shriek resonated, silencing all other noises on the battlefield.

The extremity of something looking like the strange mix of a leg and a tentacle was bleeding in a silver colour but before she could move her swarm inside the creature's body they were literally disintegrated by the fluid pouring out of the wound and the survivors were destroyed by an enraged tide of metallic scarabs – the vision of the things she had borrowed had given her a clear view of what the monster controlled.

 **Incomprehension. Control failing. Incomprehension**.

But just as it was emitting in this curious manner, the silver entity riposted in a frightening halo of green light. The Space Marine tried to avoid the blast but his super-reflexes were not sufficient. For a second, it looked like the gravity had suddenly decided to take a holiday for the Legionary of the Dark Angels.

Illusion shattered the next instant when it slammed in the opposite wall. The shock was so violent pieces of the structure fell and the Space Marine stayed immobile in the hole he had just created.

 _ **Satisfaction**_.

The superhuman warrior out of the fight, Magos Lankovar and she were the only ones left to face the C'Tan. The rest of the Fay regiment had made a hasty withdrawal to the throne room's exit, and the remaining machines were levitated by some incomprehensible green energy and used as entertainment.

"Don't shoot at the C'Tan!" She shouted at the Explorator when she saw the big blue-lighted weapon was directed at the silver being. "We must neutralise the metallic scarabs first!"

Landing near the senior Mechanicus representative, Taylor drew her chainsword and started to hack right and left the waves of small machines focusing on them. And for what seemed to be a minute or two, it worked. Each of the strike or shot was removing a few silver insects from the equation. Next second, they were under her control.

The rapport of force was changing. The C'Tan or whatever truly controlled the metallic waves was really mediocre in its control. Weaver could control the few dozen mechanical constructs tactically and logically after a few more seconds but this thing was all brute force.

 _ **Irritation**_.

Unfortunately, the green rays were really overkill. A new annihilation wave rushed in and Lankovar and she charged on different directions. The bug-controller gave a new command and half of her effectives slammed into the C'Tan, piercing the silver carapace where the chest would have been if it had been a human being. The light silver acid poured out, and she had to withdraw her metallic bugs.

 _ **Die! Die**_!

In hindsight, they should have just run. The monster had just been toying with them until now. From the silver surface of its body began to merge blades and several guns look-alike that couldn't be anything but bad news. A sort of green halo surrounded it and the C'Tan appeared to double in size. The holes and the nearby corridors were suddenly flooded in tens of thousands scarab-machines. Each of the insect under control, metallic or living, alive or dead, was charged by over a hundred of this implacable tide.

"Magos! Retreat!"

Iash'uddra then gave them an idea how furious it was. Five green rays came into existence and blasted away the ceiling and the walls. Entire sections crumbled and were disintegrated.

She avoided the falling rubble the fastest she could, and the red robes on her left proved Lankovar was doing the same thing. And then it stopped.

The C'Tan was still levitating at the same place they had last seen it...except that where she had wounded him the second time, the great sword of the Dark Angel had stabbed him.

The impact on the wall where the Space Marine was supposed to lie mortally wounded was empty and its creator was sprinting again towards the Endless Swarm, trampling more metallic scarabs and giving her back control of a miniscule swarm.

 _ **Annoyance**_.

For the first time, the C'Tan used its members to remove the sword before throwing it like a javelin in her direction. Only a rapid feint allowed her to avoid being impaled on this deadly projectile.

Then it teleported.

Not the impossible race of the Space Marine, or the incredible flooding of the metallic insects. An instant, it was in the middle of the throne room. The next it was in front of the Space Marine, who he had just immobilised by coalescing the sea of metallic insects surrounding his feet.

This time there was no death ray. The C'Tan punched the superhuman in the armoured plate with an impact so powerful Taylor heard the protections crack against the punishment. The shock wave forced her two steps back. And for the second time in less than fifteen minutes, the Space Marine was thrown in the air, the front of his massive armour shattered. The impact with the ground was heart-breaking and this time the Emperor's elite warrior did not try to stand up again.

The C'Tan turned its parody of head in her direction. The blazing green eyes watched her evilly.

The former supervillain threw every single thing she had at the Star God but her bugs were literally drowned under the silver endless wave. The chainsword swirled in a desperate reflex but it was literally cut in half like it was nothing by her enemy.

One second she tried to put the maximum of distance between her and the C'Tan, the next she was seized by the throat and there was pain. It hurt. God, it hurt!

 _ **Understanding. Administration. Query**_?

 _The entities were immense and complex beyond imagination. They were millions of small shards, all fulfilling different skills and functions. Alone, they had limited data to work with and restricted specialisation. It was together the entities reached their full potential of thoughts and creation._

 _Data and memories of different dimensions were shared. Amalgamations were directed on new pathways, and new shards were infused to describe something different._

 **Creation? Addition**.

"Iash'uddra."

The metallic voice came out of nowhere. The pressure on her throat disappeared and Taylor fell on the mass of metallic scarabs.

Doing her best to ignore the ache in her head and the pain in her body, Weaver watched who had intervened and stopped the C'Tan from killing her.

It was Trazyn the Infinite Collector. The robot commander's violet cape was full of holes and good for the dustbin, but he looked otherwise remarkably intact. The machine leader still had his sceptre and his well-decorated armour. To his right was a large opened structure built like the hybrid of a pyramid and a tank, taller and larger than the Space Marine lying unconscious on the floor. The technological device was coursing with green energy...and this simple apparition enraged the C'Tan far more than the previous fight had.

 _ **Tesseract! Die! Die! Die! Die!**_ _ **Betrayer! Die! Die**_!

The C'Tan unleashed this fury and this time there was no holding back. Hundreds of green rays were fired at Trazyn. The metallic insects charged in their endless numbers. The air and the very reality seemed to tremble under the power of the attacks.

The Infinite Collector disappeared again and it was then the weird device activated. A vortex of pure darkness opened. Temperature fell in the throne room and Taylor shivered despite her military clothes. The silver waves of mini-robots tried to evade the vortex but whatever gravity attraction this pyramid-tank had, it was stronger than their evasion capacities. The metallic insects were absorbed in the vortex after two seconds of charge. Not by hundreds, but by the thousands and tens of thousands. The shard of the Star God tried to stop its creations from rushing in, but the waves were disappearing at a frightening rate. And the technology used to make this thing was evidently C'Tan-proof. The green lightning and diverse blast of energy hit the black-green metals but the most powerful were barely scratching its paint.

When about nine-tenths of the silver constructs had disappeared from reality, it was Iash'uddra turn to be aspired in this dark whirlpool. The C'Tan resisted of course. The ground shook in monumental earthquakes. Silver pikes were dug in the walls, the ceiling and the ground to serve as improvised anchors. Debris became flaming projectiles to be hammered against the tank-pyramid. But it was a fight lost from the start. Metre by metre, it was attracted in the heart of the vortex. It was about three metres away from the core of the maelstrom when it turned a last time and flashed in a sort of silver brilliance. For a moment, she thought she heard a sort of melody coming from their opponent.

 _ **Vengeance. Liberty. Vengeance. Administration**_.

The young parahuman didn't know if it was an imploration, a demand or a last wish. And she was not sure she wanted to ask precisions in the first place.

Iash'uddra the Endless Swarm was swallowed entirely by the darkness as easily as his metallic scarabs had been and in a series of shrieks and cracks the pyramid-tank closed down, burying the supposed Star God away from prying eyes.

Taylor breathed loudly in relief. About ten metres behind her, Magos Explorator Desmerius Lankovar fell on his knees, whispering endless praises to the Omnissiah and the God-Emperor. Approximately a kilometre away, the surviving soldiers of the two Fay companies were coming back in good formation, although their progression was slow since the perfectly flat ground was now the picture of a World War battlefield. In the crater where he had been projected, the Space Marine was trying to extricate himself from his ruined armour.

They had survived. It didn't feel like a victory – the bright red traces of blood everywhere told her the number of dead was not going to be small – but they had gotten rid of the monster. Well, Trazyn had done it and they had managed to remain alive a few minutes but-

Like the Collector had thought she was thinking about him, he reappeared under their eyes. The Major didn't know if it was a magical invisibility cloak or a super-advanced cloaking device, but she really wanted one.

As he was less than ten metres away, her earlier assessment appeared accurate: only the violet cape appeared to have suffered the onslaught of Iash'uddra.

"Incredible battle!" declared the self-proclaimed 'Infinite Collector' in a joyful manner. "The recordings will make a perfect addition to my Tarivekh branch on Solemnace!" Wait a minute. This trickster had played the cameraman when they were fighting for their lives? "Now, where were we in our conversation before we were so rudely interrupted?"

The Necron commander caressed his sceptre in a meditating manner before turning his eyes slowly on the Space Marine...and her. For the first time, the supervillain in her was ill-at-ease by how similar the artificial eyes of the killing machine and the fake iris of the C'Tan were the same colour.

"Ah, yes. I need new pieces for my collection."

The manner this sentence was formulated suggested Trazyn the Infinite had already made his choice on what, or rather who he wanted.

* * *

 **Sergeant Gavreel Forcas**

This was really humiliating. Gavreel had fought for hours in the sewers and the darkness of the underhive without taking a single wound. Granted the opposition had been ridiculous, against madmen and fanatics, supported by some ugly reptilian xenos. But he had been winning. Most of his bolter ammunition had disappeared in these skirmishes, but he had judged this an acceptable price to pay. And the moment he had began to fight against these soulless machines and abominable intelligences, the problems lied more in the lack of competent support than the difficulty of the opposition. A Company of Legionary Astartes would have dealt easily with these metallic creatures. The Legion had faced far more dangerous foes in the Great Crusade than these 'Necrons'.

Or so he had believed ten minutes ago. Until he faced the 'C'Tan' or whatever name the galaxy had for this abomination.

It had taken less than three hundreds seconds for the xenos creature to send him to the four corners of this immense throne room. The Dark Angel Sergeant would like to boast his opponent had been far more injured but honestly he had not managed to scratch him.

It looked like his pride and his Mark IV Maximus Power Armour were going to be written off as total losses. A Major of the Imperial Army or whatever equivalent still existed these days had done better than him. True, she had the minor power of controlling insects and bugs but he was a transhuman warrior and his veins the results of the Emperor's gene-experimentation flowed. He should have done better than this!

On the good sides, he was still alive. The plastron was a total loss, his vambraces, backpack, cables and connectors were truly ruined, and it took him many seconds to activate the procedures to start liberating himself from this ceramite and adamantium prison. First, he removed his helmet, giving him his first view of a truly ravaged battlefield. It was like someone had used a Land Raider to cause the maximum of damage, supported by a few bombers and one or two regiments of light infantry for good measure. The floor, so pristine moments before, was now a succession of craters.

"Ah, yes. I need new pieces for my collection."

Abandoning his efforts to liberate himself from what had been an efficient battle-armour, Gavreel watched the machine clothed in purple and gold. Really he didn't like this machine. And not just because the Emperor himself had decreed the abominable intelligences were major dangers to be eliminated at the first opportunity.

This thing, this 'Trazyn', had let his troops and the human different groups be massacred against the abomination named 'Iash'uddra' the time he activated his own trap. While it was successful, this strategy reeked of dishonesty and manipulation. Gavreel had seen his share of officers like this on both sides of a war. Humans and xenos ready to sacrifice their troops for the slightest nod of approval from a General or one place up the list of promotions.

And the next words were not of a nature destined to contradict him.

"I think you three will do splendidly," said the machine, pointing directly his great sceptre at the chest of Major Taylor Hebert. "You in particular will be one of my collection's greatest prizes."

"I think not," the soldier countered and for the first time the Sergeant of the First Legion realised how young his saviour looked and sounded. In the moments after the C'Tan was vanquished the young woman had removed her fissured helmet, revealing long black hair and a visage of command that hadn't reached yet adulthood.

"The Mechanicus decline your ungrateful offer," added Magos Lankovar, walking to position his buzzing mechadendrites and his ragged red robes next to his ally. If the spider-controller was dusty and had lost all her eight-legged minions, the cogboy-in-chief armament and protections had been severely impacted and crippled. There was a sort of blue coolant dripping from seven or eight different points. Half of his armour had been incinerated and his weapons were utterly broken. In fact, if the Magos was not more metal than flesh, Gavreel was ready to bet he would have been destroyed in the first instants of battle. "We are servants of the Omnissiah and the Emperor, our place is not in a xenos collection!"

The Legionary took laboriously a semi-seated position on the debris his impact and the creature's attacks had created. He wanted to stand up and punch this 'Infinite Collector' in the face but unfortunately his armour had zero percent of power left. Even the multi-sensors and the different interfaces had stopped showing the hundreds of critical damages, multiples system failures and emergency reparations the regulators required. Frankly he didn't know if he could remove his armour alone. The helmet was easy to remove because it had been conceived that way in cases of emergency...for the armour itself he would need a lot of help in the form of servitors or Tech-Priests.

It was not a pleasant sensation at all. The _Sword of Perseverance_ was planted in a wall fifteen metres away, his bolter had a single round in the ammunition clip left. More than ever, he felt vulnerable without the bonds of his fellow Legionaries. They were not supposed to remain alone for weeks in unexplored territories. This was not the way of the First...

"But this is a great honour!" The metallic abomination seemed honesty offended that someone didn't want to join the C'Tan in what was no doubt a prison-collection of the worst sort. Naive or not, this tone brought no result. The Magos drew a small plasma pistol from under his red cloak and the Major took a laspistol out of her holster. "Oh by the curse of Llandu'ghor, I will have to use strongest measures then."

The metallic fingers played a combination on the panel command of the xenos sceptre and in a flash of bright green light, hundreds of new soulless warriors reappeared. Unlike the previous ones however, the weapons the abominations were carrying were not a bright green but shining in a mix of blue and white.

Gavreel's heart skipped a heartbeat and it was not because he was tired and wounded. Enemy reinforcements, just what they didn't need. Of course the xenos soulless abomination had kept some troops in reserve to deal with them.

"Lay down your weapons and let the stasis forces do their collection work," commanded the violet-caped creature. "You are the last...how did you call it? Ah yes, the last parahuman. You are unique, I have never seen another specimen like yourself in this galaxy. Your regiment is dead, there are no Canoptek Scarabs for you to use in the vicinity and my collection awaits."

"Incredible." Far from showing terror or anger, the young Major's face showed a thin smile. "All of these affirmations are false."

By the looks on Trazyn's metallic head, this was not the answer the 'Necron' had expected.

"I am not the last parahuman. I am not unique. There are plenty of men and women with abilities far more powerful from the planet where I came from."

This was interesting information indeed. The Dark Angel Astartes just hoped there weren't too many of them or the Space Marines were going to become second-rate troops. The commander of the automatons also appeared excited by the idea to add more living humans to his collection.

"My regiment is not dead. Your 'Star God' has destroyed two companies but the Fay 20th has suffered far worse losses against the orks. We will recover."

Scratches were heard from every direction and the Infinite Collector took several steps back.

"And I am not going to end in your collection," finished the parahuman. "I am never without bugs!"

The fissured ceiling of the throne room, already ruptured in several places by the previous fight, broke again over the newly arrived metallic warriors' heads. Whoever had created these automatons had gifted them with good reflexes and a healthy sense of danger. The moment the first debris fell, they opened fire with everything they had.

Though it would have been better for them if they had had the 'annihilation guns' of green lights the previous ones had had. The blue-white weapons were in effect stasis weapons – really useful for capture, life preservation and interrogation...but absolutely useless when a torrent of silver insects swarmed you.

"This is not over!" Screamed their leader, who by this point did not bother to hide the fact he was fleeing with all celerity. "I will have my revenge, vermin!"

"Human vermin," Corrected him the Magos.

The best thing one could say about this slaughter was that it was rapid. In a minute, the scarabs targeted the weak points of the machines and in dozens of green explosions the unloving army was destroyed.

The arriving human survivors poured more laser fire for good measure, but Gavreel was sure the bugs could have handed it all on their own. A pity he couldn't move to join this slaughter. The abomination had wanted to capture him for his collection; the Legionary would have dearly loved a little demonstration in private to show him what he thought of his actions.

Too bad that in two cases, the miniature insect wave was too late. The structure having imprisoned the C'Tan volatilised itself like it had never been there. And in a flash of green, the self-proclaimed 'Infinite Collector' disappeared, leaving his last servants get massacred.

When the last machine collapsed in a storm of lasers and green flashes, there was only silence for long seconds. And then the soldiers raised their weapons in the air, cheered and celebrated their victory.

"Some lesser men and women would call this battle a near-apocalypse," commented tranquilly one of the most intimidating soldiers with a black cap, black clothes and an awful amount of prosthetics visible all over his body. "In the Imperial Guard, we call it a normal day."

* * *

 **Magos Desmerius Lankovar**

By the Omnissiah and the logical processes of the machine, it was going to be a pain explaining this sequence of events.

Before they had started the assault on the Hive, Desmerius had believed it would be an easy step on his Quest of Knowledge. Blame everything on the Inquisitors, swear to secret the Fay soldiers, make minor promises of material assistance to the authorities, take whatever was in the Vault of Infinity for himself and his Stygies patrons, and of course ensure neither the Inquisitors nor their followers be in the vicinity to explain a contrary chain of events.

None of his simulations had included soulless abominable intelligences, of course. And Inquisitor Steadham had also never mentioned in his private conversations with the Wuhanese nobility incredible swarms of metallic insect, an entity able to teleport, manipulate and explode matter like it was nothing and green weapons flaying men whether they had adequate protections or not. And it was just the highlights of what they had found in this complex below the Underhive.

The losses had been incredibly heavy. None of the Skitarii he had landed with had survived. In a few seconds, the thing the xenos had called a C'Tan had killed the last members of his escort and over four hundred Guard soldiers, nearly annihilating the 4th Company and killing all its leading officers. The 2nd Company had fared better, but Major Hebert and Colonel Larkine undoubtedly would demand reinforcements after they had time to estimate their losses.

These casualties could have been viewed in a good light if they had managed to recover working examples of this 'Necron' race. For the shame of the Machine-God, it had proved impossible. All these fantastic weapons and automatons had self-destroyed, ravaged by the metallic insects, crippled or reduced to splinters. The Magos Explorator in the end had managed to recover several of the 'Canoptek scarabs' thanks to his insect-controller ally – and hadn't it been an interesting discovery to know the control was also effective against xenos-made insects – several kilograms of this silver self-repairing substance and enormous amounts of burnt things and green crystals.

But this was not the source of his current frustration, oh no. No, this lied with the six men and women currently unconscious in front of him. They were the regimental soldiers who had been commanded by Captain Sevrev to evacuate the Inquisitorial prisoners to the surface.

"Where are the Inquisitors and the rest of the prisoners?" Barked the Commissar, distributing slaps right and left in the hope the unconscious soldiers woke up. But the escort stayed in the comatose state they were in. Rapid examinations revealed small marks on their skins, similar to the one the Necron machines had left on the ground and several bodies before. With these clues in hand, it was not hard to guess who was responsible from the Inquisitors disappearance.

"Trazyn," The word came out Major Taylor Hebert's like a curse. "This thief really doesn't lose time enlarging his collection."

Several of the flies, razorbeetles and common insects the young woman had recovered in these corridors buzzed and spread thorough the galleries, but by her disgruntled face there was no trace of the Infinite Collector or any of the missing prisoners. And since the creatures had already revealed their ability to pass through solid walls, there was little chance the Fay 20th could find them again.

"Err, Major...we found something."

The intervention had come from one of the guardswomen handling their knocked-out allies. Half-hidden behind one of the bodies and a rusted pipe, there was what looked like a power sword in scabbard and a large scroll.

"It's addressed to you, Major."

The yellowish scroll was handed directly, the bug-master mumbling a thanks before breaking its seal and reading its contents. After a few seconds where the parahuman got an angrier look in her eyes, Desmerius was handed the letter. Just by the style of writing and the Necron emblem, the Mechanicus representative knew their suppositions on the fate of the missing Inquisitors had just been verified.

 _My Dear Lady Weaver,_

 _While I was chagrined by your refusal to not be included in my collection, let me thank you profusely for this inestimable gift. It is so very rare to have to have the opportunity of finding a human Inquisitor and his retinue no one will miss, but two are an opportunity of a millennium! You couldn't know of course of the state of my Malcador Inquisitorial Collection, but these two gifts will contribute to its greatness and ultimate completion. I have also taken the liberty of selecting a few of their underlings and servants in the galleries and the camps you organised in the tunnels and the city. Tarellian soldiers will take a good place in my Sur-Hawk Collection and there are one or two archways where Penitents and worshippers of the Emperor of Mankind can be placed. As you were sufficiently gracious to help against Iash'uddra, the forces under your command I was forced to neutralise will wake up in one tenth of a cycle and will have no recollections of these events._

 _If I might level a minor criticism, the big spiders you used to terrify the subjects are a bit too effective at their task. But this is a minor complaint anyway and your insects-manipulation skills have proven invaluable for this large undertaking. In light of your actions and the numerous exploits you will accomplish in the future, let me repay your gifts with one of my own. Accompanying this message is the Nebula's Shard, a unique sword I obtained at the height of the War in Heaven. It is a mere bauble for me, but I think you will find its capacities illuminating._

 _May it help you in your attempts to find interesting pieces for my collection!_

 _Trazyn the Infinite Collector_

This was not the strangest correspondence Lankovar had ever read – the bureaucrats of the Administratum had a mysterious skill to beat everyone in that domain – but it certainly figured in good place.

There were gasps around him and a quick redirection of his attention informed him Taylor Hebert had drawn the sword. The effect, one had to admit, was unusual. The grip and the guard were in gold or a metal of similar colour. The pommel was decorated with a large bluestone, and while Desmerius had never been an expert in the jewel customs of the Imperium upper classes, this jewel's value was certainly not cheap. The rest of the blade was even more impressive. It didn't look to be made of metal at all, but in crystal. From the point to the blade, the weapon was transparent and deadly; even with his advanced optical sensors, the edge of the sword was so sharp it was blurry.

"Two Inquisitors for a blade like this isn't that bad a price, really," mumbled one of the female soldiers next to him.

Internally, the Magos scoffed. If the archeotech was as old and unique as the message implied, this sword could very well be worth an entire Sector Capital by itself. And if the 'capacities' were valuable, the price would increase in consequence. Truly he had to convince Major Taylor Hebert to let him examine the sword. How could he convince her...for security purposes? Yes, that would do it nicely.

"Well," said someone in the penumbra. "How in the name of the God-Emperor do we explain this?"

* * *

 **Vice-Admiral Vortigern von Drenthe the Eighth**

Just to be clear, Vortigern hadn't liked the former Governor of Wuhan. Chen Cao may have held the title of Marshal in the Planetary Defence Force a few decades ago and fancied himself a professional soldier, but this had been one of the many delusions the noble ruling in His Most Holy Majesty's name had enjoyed. Like the majority of his subordinates, Governor Chen's military experience had consisted in breaking the backs of some of the most audacious gangers reigning in the lower levels of Hive Chao-Lai and the man himself had never come close a battlefield in person. But he had been willing to let the myriad of courtiers and advisors do the real job of ruling while he took all the credit. Moreover, his genial appearance of a well-muscled man of one meter and seventy-six centimetres had done marvels for the public-address plates and the rest of the propaganda services.

No one on the other hand was going to mistake Hongfeng Cao for an officer or a soldier of the PDF or the Guard. His height and his corpulence made sure of this. Despite his fanciful ballroom shoes, the new Governor was less than one metre and fifty centimetres tall. In itself, it was not a damning indication. There were plenty of humans and abhumans of small size, serving the God-Emperor in whatever manner was available to them. The problem was Hongfeng Cao was fat. The little bugger had to weigh at least eighty kilos and his golden suit coat – a very expensive set – was useless to hide the obesity problem. Still, he could have coped with it. In all his years of service in the Navy, slim Governors were definitely a rarity.

What he couldn't deal with was Hongfeng Cao venomous behaviour. When he was enraged, the noble dwarf had really little patience, wanting to decide everything on his own and insulting the subordinates who didn't comply fast enough.

"The wait-and-see attitude of my PDF officers in this affair was utterly scandalous!" roared the loud-mouthed Governor. "Twenty million men and not a single one had the courage to protect my planet?"

To signify his huge displeasure, the new Governor was not shy on grand gestures. Hongfeng was standing on his chair and watching the Lord-Magnates assembled in front of him like a killer examines his next victims. A sort of golden carafe which had minutes ago been used for the lunch beverage was thrown against the wall where it shattered.

The Lord-Magnates and the dozens of senior figures listening to refused to answer. They obviously didn't like the vociferous gnome, but answering back was a sure way to lose fortunes and titles. Besides, novices in politics or not, each sentence was more and more looking like a bait.

"We were under Inquisitorial orders." The calm voice of the ageing General-Marshal Shu Han intervened. Under the luminous decorations of the large meeting room they were occupying, his skin was looking pale and sickly. As the commander of the PDF was obviously rich to warrant rejuvenation treatments, he was not looking like he was one hundred and fifty years old but his health was not extraordinary either. "We had conflicting commands. The situation was so confused it was impossible to intervene."

The glare the white-haired old man received from his civilian superior was a firm invitation to put his excuses in a place where the sun of Wuhan would never shine.

"We were under orders you believed to be inquisitorial in nature," amended Hongfeng with an evil smile and enlarging his chest like he deserved a military award. Like thousands of men and women, the man who had succeeded Chen Cao had been unsurprisingly quick to vocalise his doubts once the Fay 20th vox-operators had confirmed the horrible deaths of Steadham and Stradivarik. Whether they had been exploded by the very things they were searching or in a furious cross-fire with the Imperial Guard was not an issue worth debating. The two men had caused tens of thousands deaths, many of them belonging to the nobility. Culprits had to be designated and the two pretenders of the Ordos Nyx were not able to defend their actions. "In my opinion, the crimes and goals of these imposters speak for themselves. Whoever they were, their deeds are not those of servants of the God-Emperor!"

Many signs of the Aquila were made, including one by the obese Governor himself. It was a hypocritical behaviour of course. Hongfeng Cao had gained his current position by eliminating directly the opposition. This was not exactly the conduct of a pious servant of His Most Holy Majesty.

"I think it is time you take your long-delayed retirement, General-Marshal." The tone employed was not one of suggestion.

"In your dreams," replied the elderly officer with a low growl indicating he would have spit on the carpet if not for his respect of the traditional Wuhanese customs. "The Wuhan PDF doors may be closed to me, but the Frateris Templars' are not! Thanks to Pontifex Jasonius, I will have the position I deserve!"

"Your Gathalamorian friends and the xenos were unable to slow down two Guard regiments..." snickered Lord-Magnate Fulei Zhou, ruler of Hive Zhou and a man who had many connections in two other Sectors of the Ultima Segmentum. "But if you believe they deserve you..."

Nobles and officers alike chuckled at this good word and the visage of General-Marshal Shu Hen reddened in humiliation and hate. Making his green cape twirl over his light blue uniform and the bronze insignia of his retired rank, the white-haired man left the room, followed by some of his junior aides and some Ecclesiarchy non-entities.

"Good, I will not have him in my feet anymore," said Hongfeng Cao, a strange affirmation since Shu Hen had to be forty centimetres taller than him minimum. "Now let's speak of the economic situation. There are going to be...adjustments."

On his seat, Lord-Magnate Wu Asao blanched in fear. As his House had been nearly wiped out and his Hive was in severe need of reparations, the 'adjustments' were certainly going to be dolorous and costly in influence.

"Let's begin with the shares of the Hubei Cartel. House Asao owned twenty-six percent of its shares before the incident..."

* * *

 **Beyond the Light of the Astronomican**

 **Eastern Fringe**

 **Solemnace World Engine**

 **Somatek the Patient**

When his Overlord and Master had returned a hundredth of a cycle ago, well before all his astrogation predictions, Somatek had known the boredom of the last centuries was about to end. The Infinite Collector, also known as the Honourless Thief by the majority of the dynasties of the Necron, rarely abandoned his 'collection quests' across the entire galaxy for no reason. In general, said reasons varied from capturing something that had to be brought back to Solemnace at faster-than-light speed to one of the current powers dominating this galaxy having found out about his activities and organising a Necron-hunt. Now that he reviewed in his vast memories-banks the last occasions this had happened, the two were not mutually exclusive.

Crypteks and other Necrons had long abandoned their mortal emotions in the cursed process of biotransference. Yet each time the Chief Archaeovist of the Solemnace Galleries came back aboard the _Sublime Collection_ – a massive battleship borrowed to a dynasty long lost in the War in Heaven – Somatek and the rest of the Solemnace court were feeling something between excitation and fear. It was impossible to deny Overlord Trazyn had a peerless skill to find and acquire extremely valuable artefact and specimens. It was also evident that each campaign of exploration added a few thousand alien enemy factions to the endless hyperscroll records of Solemnace. While the minority raged, lived and died without having the slightest clue where to find the World Engine, certain opponents were more problematic. Twelve thousand years ago, one of the travels in the Webway had led to a terrible carnage between the Aeldari decadent empire and the forces of the Infinite Collector. The final result had been a star and its neighbouring planets blown up. Just because Overlord Trazyn had wanted the possessions of an Aeldari Princess for his personal collection.

A rapid series of queries to Nodal Command informed him his superior was moving towards the Vaults of Akharz-Tovekh. The rest of the warriors from the _Sublime Collection_ could be safely dismissed, as they all were located in the levels where humans and low-level reptiles were kept.

This revelation of course didn't reassure him at all. The Vaults of Akharz-Tovekh were some of the most secure gallery in Solemnace...and the collections in the first place were not renowned for being defenceless and easy to escape. Every system of defence the Necrons had invented at one point or another before the Long Sleep had been built there.

A tenth of cycle later he had the full answer. And Somatek didn't like it.

"Was it really necessary to bring another Tesseract Vault here, Chief Archaeovist?"

Somatek didn't even need a sensor sweep to know the prison had a C'Tan shard in it. The connectors were shining in their usual bright green light and there were sign of many energy primordial assaults against the outer structure.

"Iash'uddra," was the curt answer of the Infinite Collector.

The Endless Swarm. Despite being an entity of living-metal and engrams, the Chief Cryptek shivered. There were beings that could not be allowed to be unleashed on this galaxy once again.

"I thought the decrees of the Silent King had demanded the Urthek Dynasty would be the sworn custodians of these shards."

"I did too," grumbled the Lord of the Great Library. "But the Horth Dynasty was never that fond of our great Silent King in the beginning. Worse, I suspect their Cryptek may have conspired with the C'Tan in the first place."

These were horrid news. The capture of the C'Tan had seen great purges of the Necron Royal and Cryptek Circles when the Star Gods broke millions of obedience protocols and entire legions decided to continue the war on the C'Tan's side.

Moreover, Iash'uddra was one of the more dangerous C'Tan around. The Endless Swarm was less powerful than the Nightbringer. It lacked the machine-command power of the Void Dragon. It had not the fire powers of the Burning One. But in a matter of minutes, it was able to command tens of billions of self-repair insects, mind-control nano-machines and other millions of auxiliaries. Tomb-Worlds could offer no resistance as their own systems were disabled or returned against them. Iash'uddra was literally without number and incredibly vicious. There were Star Gods weakening if they were not able to absorb the energy of stars or moral souls during a long fight. Not the Endless Swarm, which became more powerful as it increased the numbers of its mechanic servants.

According to the rumours, it had eaten the soul of the Silent King. But this was unverifiable and of little importance in the end.

"How were you able to transfer it safely to the Tesseract Vault?"

"I had a bit of help," admitted the Overlord, giving him a data-crystal. Somatek activated it. The sound and the image were not the best, but they revealed enough. Humans and Necrons battled against the C'Tan shard for a short amount of time. Completely astounding, one of these humans had fought their former master to a standstill for several waves. It was pleasant to see Iash'uddra be on the receiving side of the swarm tactics for once. When the image dissipated, the Cryptek could safely harbour a large smile on his green-golden mask.

"The human disagreed with your methods, Overlord." It had been a long time the Infinite Collector had not been told 'no' and forced to accept it. Of course, Trazyn was clearly going to 'visit' other Tomb-Worlds to compensate his losses during this incident. "You realise this is the second confirmed victory of a human against a C'Tan?"

Granted, it was a shard this time but this was incredible for a young species.

"Oh, yes." The Chief Archaeovist taped a series of combinations and the Tesseract Vault was frozen in a series of foam-star, stasis-manipulation fields, temporal field-breakers and a dozen other measures halting the laws of physics as lesser species understood them. "I realise it very well. I will keep an eye on Taylor 'Hebert' Weaver. Call it intuition, but I have a feeling she may be even more interesting than my old friend of the Anatolian Mountains."

Somatek chose to leave his superior to his delusions. Stealing unique pieces of technology from someone did not make this being a friend. And given the abominations of the non-material realms feared this human, the Chief Cryptek had been a finger away from emigrating to another galaxy when he had seen the revenge fleets mustered by the furious human.

"How?"

"I gave her the Nebula's Shard."

Yes, it would not be a problem to trace the weapon's location and its owner. There was still a problem rising up in his mind, however. The same why no Necron in his right mind on Solemnace wanted to use this weapon.

"Did you inform this Weaver to not use this weapon against the Aeldari?"

By the way, Trazyn the Infinite's hand tightened around the Empathic Obliterator, the reply was certainly not going to be positive.

"I hope for you this swarm-controller is resourceful..."

* * *

 **Beyond Reality**

 **Somewhere in the Warp**

The Immaterium was sometimes called the Great Ocean by the psychic races of the Milky Way. I was an imperfect analogy, but then given the very nature of the Warp, billions had used it constantly before humankind learnt how to make fire.

But if the Empyrean was like a fast flowing stream of energy, with its currents and undertows, the surface of this ocean was the separation between Materium and the Sea of Chaos. The motionless banks around this ocean belonged to real-space. As long as you stayed close to them, the dangers were minimal – by the standard of Warp Travel. But the deepest you went in the abyss, the risks went up at a skyrocketing rate. Every sea had its predators, and those of the Sea of Souls were voracious indeed. Super-predators of Death Worlds were kittens compared to the abominations the Ether was able to conjure.

This dimension had not always been hellish like this. Aeons before, it had been in a state of equilibrium with the Old Ones standing watch over the young races. But the guardians-creators of the Great Ocean had been forced to break their own rules in order to win the war against the C'Tan. At the time, it had been believed the end justified the means – there would be no future if the cruel masters of the Necron race won the War in Heaven. After the destruction of these soul-devourers, the wise defenders of both dimensions would recover and solve all the problems.

But the Old Ones didn't win. And for millions of years, the direct consequence of this defeat was the continued existence of abominations reigning over the Sea of Souls. Below the surface, in places so distant and complex no warship or psyker dared visiting them, were unspeakable entities no reasonable being wanted to attract the attention of.

The one stretching its tendrils was perhaps not the most dangerous, but its very nature had extinguished uncountable civilisations in real-space. It was a horror. Taller than a million skyscrapers, its very appearance was changing second by second, mutating and generating body parts going from the ridiculous to the lethal. At the moment it had nine gigantic heads. It was quite practical, one had to admit, to shout insults, recriminations and complaints at incompetent subordinates in ninety-nine million forgotten languages.

"You were supposed to save the galaxy and prepare the greater victory of Change!"

"Everything is proceeding according to the plan!"

"What were you thinking, placing the Insect Administrator near a C'Tan?"

"The Orks advances in the Nyx Sector have been completely halted!"

"The destinies of many servants, allies and enemies are no more..."

"You hastened the galaxy's destruction!"

"The Queen of Escalation has begun her ascension..."

"Let the Galaxy Change!"

The blazes of lightning thundering over the impossible citadels rising and falling every heartbeat were eye-catching. But for the two bird-headed conglomerates of sorcery and change, the spectacle was not their prime preoccupation. It was not their second, their third or fourth for that matter. Dukes of Change they may be, but they knew their master would not hesitate a micro-second before throwing them into the Well of Eternity if it advanced his myriad of plans. It happened to Kairos Fateweaver, and they were far more expendable than the Vizir.

"But there is still my hope, my Master!" protested one of the two demons, elongating his gold wings. "Weaver lives and so are the other parahumans we brought from across the dimensions!"

"Besides the chaos she is creating in the future threads is inspiring us to greater schemes!" added helpfully the second. "And the other Three have no idea how our plans are going to affect them!"

"There are many pawns still in place," begged the first hybrid of kraken, bird and various abominable combinations as the Empyrean itself seemed to freeze. Where before they had been overlooking a black fortress being dismantled and rebuilt without any logic, they were now surrounded by an ice spectacle of labyrinths and stalactites. "And we have the opportunity to weaken our rivals! Hope and Chaos, Great Changer!"

The nine heads fell silent and fixed the beings which were servants, interlocutors, agents, enemies, followers of his will. Millions of tentacles and feathers clacked in the Realm of Chaos, generating tempests of raw energy, destroying weak souls by the trillions and changing the course of hundreds of thousands Warp-using starships. Finally, the voices spoke the same message.

"The Weaver Option will continue."


	13. Peril 2-5 Victory of Politics

**Peril 2.5**

 **Victory of Politics**

 _We fought for twenty-seven years the Orks on Dacium. It was a horrible war, the greenskins had complete aerial superiority for the first ten years and in the first months my regiment was wiped out three times before being brought back to strength anew and thrown back on the frontlines all over again. We bathed in the blood of our companies and fired with the weapons of destroyed armies. We had to fight night and day the xenos and their technologic aberrations that should never have functioned correctly. For twenty-seven years I prayed the God-Emperor to send be away from this forsaken hellhole._

 _When the bureaucrats of the Administratum finally noticed my service terms were long fulfilled, I was a general and one of the few men having participated to the first landing. They shipped me back home aboard a light cruiser two Terran months later. At the time, I thanked the God-Emperor for his merciful deliverance._

 _Then I came back home and discovered that as long as fought the orks in the trenches and the swamps, at least I hadn't to deal with the nobles of my Hive..._

 _Memories of a Wuhanese soldier_ from an anonymous author, 530M34.

" _Ah, Imperial politics. My only weakness_." Last words of Lord Solar Severus Amor before being thrown into a lake of supergators, 998M33.

" _The soldiers of the Guard win the day on the battlefield; the diplomats lose their nights in their gold towers_." Anonymous Nyx Guard veteran.

" _Let the games of the Asao Gold Hour begin..."_ Governor Chen Cao of Wuhan, ten hours before his assassination by the Inquisitorial strike teams.

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Moros Sub-Sector**

 **Wuhan System**

 **Wuhan II**

 **7.272.289M35**

Thought for the day: They who feast today do so in ignorance of their mortality. Tomorrow they must die or change.

 **Sergeant Gavreel Forcas**

His armour had always been black, a colour really useful when it came to hide the battle-damage it had received to the eyes of the enemy. In its ruined state however, it was a colour of ruin and shame. He could only thank the long-dead tech-priests who had once made his battle-armour. His alert sensors had told him the protections had been pulverised. Seeing the different parts spread on the workshop of Magos Lankovar, this estimation was safely conservative. This damned C'Tan had played with the reinforced layers of ceramite like a tank played with light infantry.

The difference in firepower and technology had been that great, apparently.

"I suppose, Magos, that there is no hope of rebuilding my armour?"

Gavreel asked the question but in his heart he already knew the answer. The first two battle-armours he had once worn before this had been replaced for far less intensive damage. This one had the chest plates broken not once, but in five places. The legs cables and their servos were out of order. Every cogitator and armour-control was dead. The reserves of air had shut down minutes after Iash'uddra had slammed him down on the ground of the xenos fortress-temple. The blood oxygenation chambers were experiencing critical problems. The temperature regulator was randomly showing temperatures varying from absolute zero to the inferno of a volcanic world.

The Imperial Truth told you there were no miracles, but that his battle-armour had received such damage and he had had minor contusions and wounds that his transhuman body had easily healed...well, it made him wonder.

"Simulations give a 0.00058% opportunity of restoring your Mark IV Maximus-pattern Power Armour," said the Adeptus Mechanicus in his toneless voice. "Astartes armour reparation is not my specialty but should I find an Adept of this tech-speciality in the Nyx Sector, there is a high probability this venerable armour would be declared unsalvageable."

At the Magos command, two red-robed servitors pressed series of commands and half a dozen green-lighted screens lighted in front of them.

"It is extremely regrettable, naturally. Maximus-pattern Power Armours of the thirty-first millennium are valued relics." Desmerius Lankovar spoke in a half-conversing half-teacher mode. "I had heard about how the joints and the new armour casings were a revolution when Mars authorised them of course. They provided a fifty-three per cent increase in protection and seventeen more minutes of battle-endurance at the price of three-per cent mobility. It was an acceptable performance for the final days of the great Crusade."

Then the images of his armour and the schematics as they should have been if they had been operational vanished to be replaced by a new model of power armour. At first glance, it looked impressive. The chest plastron had been considerably compared to the Maximus-pattern and the helmet was showing a family air with the Corvus prototypes which had been tested before they were banished on Caliban. The armour of the shoulder was also different and it had the double-eagle of the Emperor on the chest.

"This is the blessed Mark VII Aquila-pattern Falco-variant Power Armour." The representative of Mars explained before turning his head in his direction. The Magos had done a good job providing the illusion of an appearance, but his face was too...rigid. He was ready to bet there was a lot of metal underneath this shell of flesh. "This is one of the best armours equipping the great warriors of the Adeptus Astartes now."

Gavreel thought rapidly about it. The tech-priests rarely mentioned things just to listen the sound of their own voice.

"You have found a way to obtain one of these power armours."

Lankovar nodded vigorously.

"Between the events of Fay and the decisive actions done on Wuhan, Magos Suvrex-Gamma has expressed significant satisfaction at the outcome of Hive Asao's battle. Civilian and military production has resumed and the quotas of the Administratum will be compensated in two and a half months. Thanks to his support and those of several Magos in the Harbin System, I have been able to secure one Mark VII power armour from Metalica for your personal use, Sergeant Forcas. If the Warp-currents are favourable, it should arrive in five weeks."

"My thanks for providing a replacement armour so quickly, Magos."

"Don't thank me so rapidly...Legionary."

The former member of the Calibanite Defence Force observed in milliseconds his surroundings and noticed how empty the Mechanicus workshop was. Aside from a dozen of servitors, Lankovar was the only thinking being inside these halls. Obviously it was not a coincidence.

There was no vicious and threatening move from the Magos Explorator but Gavreel felt unease meeting this unblinking stare. More than ever, he knew how vulnerable he was in the simple black robe he wore.

"You know." It was not a question.

"You introduced yourself as a member of the Dark Angels Legion." Desmerius Lankovar slammed the lower extremity of his sceptre against the ground. "But the Legions have been disbanded by the order of Lord Commander Roboute Guilliman and forged into Chapters after the Scouring over four thousand years ago."

Gavreel tried not to show sadness at the mention of how many centuries the galaxy had endured before he reintegrated reality. In the days since the end of the battle, he had had the confirmation the days of the Crusade were long gone and the Imperium he had served a forgotten memory, but hearing a high-ranking member of the Mechanicus speak it still hurt.

"It is not what I mean and you know it, Magos." The Dark Angel patiently replied. "You are aware of Astartes like me who suddenly appeared on worlds long after their disappearance."

"It is possible Stygies VIII Magos are aware of incidents involving black-armoured Astartes wearing the symbols of the First Legion." This was the next best thing to a confirmation he was going to get. "But our investigations on these appearances have faced complications. Many of the mysterious Astartes have fallen to the Ruinous Powers and must be eliminated at all costs."

The souvenir of certain superior officers modifying their symbols came to his augmented mind. What had these idiots been thinking? He liked less and less the weird orders the 'Saviour of Caliban' and their commanders had given them...

"But there are also the Dark Angels Chapter and their successors to take into account." Astartes could not feel fear but Gavreel knew the shiver in his spine was not a feeling of battle-joy. Of course their former brothers knew what happened on Caliban and how they had betrayed their vows. And if their wrath was sufficiently roused, he would be lucky to get a bolter round in the head when he met them and opened his mouth to salute. "Every time there are whispers of these black-armoured warriors somewhere in the Galaxy, it is an extremely rare event if a Dark Angel Company does not come investigating within a decade."

"I suppose they do not offer explanations." His Legion and the Orders shaping it had had their own share of secrets and they certainly would not boast of a battle which pitted brothers against brothers on their homeworld.

"They lie from the moment they appear to the moment they depart." It was obvious Magos Lankovar was not the greatest admirer of the Dark Angels. Whether it was because the First Legion had stopped them from gaining the access to important pieces of archeotech or for more personal reasons remained to be seen. "And sometimes the servants of the Omnissiah disappear while successors Chapters of the First Legion are in the same sub-Sectors. There are still three unexplained incidents in which Explorator fleets from Stygies have disappeared metal, flesh and soul without leaving traces." The sceptre was slammed a second time. "Stygies is not the only forge-world to have suffered losses in these circumstances. Therefore, there are...protocols and safety measures I have taken the liberty to activate on my own authority. The ten companies of the Dark Angels are currently engaged in a campaign against the secessionists of Nova-Terra but it is better to take no risk."

"What sort of measures?" He didn't know what the cogboys had invented in the last millennium, but during the Great Crusade contingency measures of the Mechanicus had a disturbing frequency to end in pulverised warships, destroyed cities and lost records...

"You are officially a Battle-Sergeant of the Dark Wardens, a Chapter of some renown which was officially recognised lost by the High Lords of Terra four hundred years ago," declared the red-robed Magos. The images of the screens changed to reveal the image of black-armoured warriors which indeed had a lot of common points with the power armour he had used until now. They had not used the wings of the Dark Angels, but the silver creature they had used as their banner was sufficiently close to silence the doubters. "Since there was some speculation among the Genetors if they were issued from the Lion's gene-seed, it shouldn't be too difficult to explain you were one of the Astartes sent on independent deployment who survived your Chapter destruction."

This...it could work. It would probably require a lot of paperwork and reshuffling official reports who may or may have not seen the debris of his armour.

"And what do you want in return?" His interlocutor had been perfectly obliging, but Gavreel was not completely naive. A set of Astartes power armour was expensive and thus a huge investment of money. By the Great Beasts, the Fay regiment could sold several of its Chimeras and still not have enough money to pay for one.

"First, I want your recollection of the events having taken place on Caliban in the first years of the thirty-first millennium."

Two seconds of reflexion were enough to accept. While he knew the Caliban officers had betrayed and lied to them, it was the Lion who had sent them to Caliban and forgotten them while the Great Crusade entered its most glorious phase. And trying to erase all traces of the past...many of his brothers had just been massacred in their fortresses. Moreover if the Mechanicus was aware of some of Caliban's secrets, maybe the Dark Angels would need to be more careful threading around the armies of the Imperium...

"Agreed but be aware I was a Sergeant and I have no idea what went on between our commanders and their exchanges with the installations in orbit around the planet." He warned.

The first instant after all when he had truly realised how badly they had screwed up was when the drop-pods had screamed their war song in the atmosphere.

"Since we have little but old tales and baseless rumours, anything I will know will be far better than the information we don't have," shrugged the Magos Explorator. "Second, you will join the expeditionary forces under my command when I leave for the Andes System in two months. I will leave you the choice between harbouring the symbols of the Black Wardens or the unadorned armour of a Blackshield."

"My allegiance does not go to Mars...or other forge-worlds." Gavreel rumbled. Rarely during his service had Astartes Legionaries served under Mechanicus Explorators and for excellent reasons. At the first sign of technology, military goals and plans were going out of the windows leaving the military deal with the fallout.

"Your allegiance as we speak is to no one." And there was something like reproach hinted by the Mechanicus Tech-priest. "I offer you a chance to change this."

"How?"

"Major Taylor Hebert saved your life twice. She will travel with me along the rest of the Fay 20th. I suggest," by the way Lankovar stressed the word, it was anything but a suggestion, "that you swear a Knight-Oath to her. You will be her shield and fight for her in the name of the Emperor until the debt you owe her is repaid."

Under his breath, the Sergeant cursed. The Mechanicus knew far more in their data-banks about the Dark Angels' culture than they had thousands of years ago. It was logical, but it was frustrating. And it did not help he was right. If Gavreel refused to do it once he had been offered the 'choice', his honour and word would be absolutely worthless.

"I accept," he affirmed, doing his best to remove his hostility from his expression. The Major may be worth following in the end, but the Mechanicus certainly was not. He would follow the young woman until the honour-debt was fulfilled or death came for him...but blind obedience to Stygies VIII and Mars was out of the question. "Are there any other conditions you want to add?"

They were more, as a matter of fact. In his mechanic mind, the Magos Explorator had perhaps thought about hundreds of points. The recovery rights and purchases of archeotech were figuring in good place, but there were far from the only issues. Replacement of Astartes gear, xenos civilisations to purge or to ignore, dealings with the local political structures...between the logistical and political problems Gavreel Forcas felt a painful headache. He had never appreciated how boring and thankless the work of the non-Astartes in the Expeditionary Fleets of the Crusade was; after two hours in this room he had the shadow of an idea and none of the will to learn more. The Legionary had also never bargained in a long time, and he had a dreadful feeling the transactions were extremely one-sided and not in his favour.

When the door opened in a metallic hiss to reveal Lankovar's second-in-command and Major Hebert, he did not jump in joy but certainly felt a large relief.

The happiness was certainly not returned by the two new arrivals. Both the Mechanicus Questor and the Guard Major looked particularly...tired and disgruntled. It was more difficult to see on Alena Wismer's face of course, but her mechadendrites were spiralling violently and the flashing green eyes were far more brilliant than usual.

"I take it your day was not as productive as ours," started Desmerius Lankovar before shutting his vocal apparatus when the young insect-controller sent him a death-glare.

It was not as effective as it was normally was, since in this parade uniform covered with military decorations, her appearance was a bit...ridiculous. At least it was for his Astartes senses.

"You told us it was a small parade and a modest celebration ceremony," growled Taylor Hebert." We had to walk five hours in front of this monstrosity of a palace, endure one hour of platitudes and three hours of shaking hands and bowing in front of the Lord-Magnates!"

"Err...yes." The Magos Explorator suddenly discovered himself a firm urge to turn around and examine the flow of data recorded by his servitors. "It was a small ceremony by Wuhan standards. According to Magos Suvrex-Gamma and the archives I have been able to visualise, the parades and other ceremonies which are planned for the Sanguinala and the Governor's birthday are easily ten times this size."

The mutters of the Guard officer in Low Gothic gave him an accurate idea of what she thought of these 'small celebrations'. An opinion Gavreel shared. There had been celebrations when the Great Crusade was conquering the Galaxy. Pretending otherwise would be extremely hypocritical. But the wealth and the decadence of the nobility ruling this Hive World...no, he had not had the displeasure to meet this spectacle of debauchery when he was crusading with his brothers and exterminating the enemies of humanity. The Governors of this time had not been paragons of virtue, but they had been competent military officers rewarded for long decades of military service and countless triumphs. The corruption, administrative problems and intrigues had existed, but there were nothing compared to the atmosphere of murder and poisonous machinations reigning now.

Dynasties had forgotten their origins and what had seen them rise to power after four thousand years. The Masters of this world had become corrupt and did not care about their duty to the Emperor. Billions of people worked in the most complete misery to fuel the forges and the factories while people who had nothing but their birth to be proud of feasted and partied every hour they were awake. It was sickening.

"I hope the ball organised tonight will not be in the same league, in your interest." The smile on the face of the woman who had just convinced Trazyn the Infinite to steal men and xenos elsewhere was somewhat evil. "You're invited too, Lord-Magnate Asao's recommendation."

"I wonder who suggested this invitation to him," said the Magos Explorator, turning his attention away from his screens and displays to look at them.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," replied virtuously the second-in-command of the Fay 20th.

Lankovar was not human but the loud grunt he made told them not all of his humanity had fled his carcass of meat and alloys.

"My simulations can affirm the contrary with 97.45 per-cent certainty." Unblinking eyes fixed the chest of the Major. "I see they gave you new decorations."

"The Order of Wuhan First Class, the Asao Cross, the Cao Shield, the Gold Skull, the Marksman Laser Target and the Astra Militarum Underground Battle Medal." The young woman recited, pointing to each military medal as she listed the awards she carried on her black and grey uniform. "And according to Imperial regulations I will be forced to wear all of them every time I am invited to a formal ceremony..."

Despair may be too strong a word to describe the accent in the Major's voice but there were hints of revulsion. He could sympathise, really. All these medals had just been won in two campaigns and were somewhat on the light side compared to what the Wuhan PDF officers had been granted, but the amount of metal the Fay officer carried had to be enough to stop one or two shots from a laspistol. It was certainly not a small weight.

But many soldiers had confided while he was in ear-range that unless you were awarded one of ten greatest Guard decorations galactic-wide like the Star of Terra or the Order of Ollanius Pius, regulations imposed you wore all of them.

It was inefficient to the extreme, but the Guard was not and never would be the Imperial Army, alas.

"Amusing," commented the Magos Explorator though as always, no sign of amusement or hilarity could be found on this imperturbable face. "But I fear that we will need to hurry if we must assist to this ball of victory. Let's speak of the Necron technology we have managed to save."

"You have understood how their technology works?"

The nod received in return was definitely negative.

"I concluded a few things from my studies...mainly this technology is far in advance from anything the Mechanicus is able to create in our forges. It is beyond our means to replicate and the only certainty we have is that with the null-wards installed all over my workshops, these 'Necrons' never relied on Warp-based engines and weapons. These scarabs and crystals are breaking several laws of physics but they are achieving it by non-psychic means. How they achieved this feat... "

Gavreel had never thought he would see the day where a member of the Mechanicus admitted he had no idea what he was working on, but this day evidently was full of surprises.

"And the lines of codes extracted from the scarabs?"

"We have entire libraries worth of data...for all the cogs and promethium it's going to provide us." Mechanicus Magos did not sigh but Lankovar was not far from there. "There are eighteen thousand and four hundred-two unknown distinct cryptograms in the Necron alphabet. Since asking the Infinite Collector is going to be problematic, not to mention dangerous, we have nothing to run our cogitators on."

"Tech-Priest Ur-Alpha suggested these symbols may be based on existing star constellations." Wismer told her superior. "The solution to understand the Necrons may be in our astrogation charts."

"This theory brings its lot of problems – assuming it is true." Lankovar seemed reluctant at acknowledging a theory was good if it didn't come from his brain. "We have no point of reference, no idea where the Necron homeworld is and of course none of us has heard a Necron speak in their language."

Said like this, it was true the chances of deciphering a complex xenos code were small.

"And don't forget how old the Necron civilisation probably is," continued the Master of the _Magos Laurentis_. "It is likely their culture rose to the stars tens of thousands years ago."

"They predate the settlement of the Imperium on Wuhan for sure." Taylor Hebert said quietly. "Someone would have noticed if the Necrons were building their refuge-fortress under Hive Asao."

This meant the Necrons had probably dominated this sector of galactic space long before humanity decided to leave the Solar System. There might be a chance they were even older than the moment the first humans discovered fire. The civilisations supposed to be that old were few and far between. Of all the species he had fought against during the Great Crusade, the Eldar were the only xenos civilisation that old, no matter how arrogant these long-ears were.

"Indeed. Although how the topographic studies of the first colonists missed it in the first place can only be attributed to another cloaking technology from these abominations or incredible incompetence." The display at the centre of the room instantly was modified to show Hive Asao and the xenos complex below it. "They must have had far more limited initial resources than the Adeptus Mechanicus but they had STC with complete terraforming data-bases. Perhaps my patrons at Stygies will be able to tell us more once we give them our information."

"I would go with the cloaking explanation, Magos." Wismer respectfully told Desmerius Lankovar. "These xenos are not to be underestimated."

"They are able to imprison a creature like the C'Tan, teleporting through a planetary crust, phasing through walls, annihilating matter with their infantry guns and somehow fitting sixteen thousand trillion lines of codes inside one scarab." The Mechanicus survivor of the clash with the C'Tan said. "Anybody who underestimates these creatures deserves a painful and final death."

No one tried to counter this assertion. One meeting with the metallic xenos was sufficient to recognise the truth.

"And the Nebula's Shard?" The former Dark Angel asked.

"My studies have been able to tell the sword is of Aeldari origin and the scabbard is a Necron design." The eyes of the humans in the room turned to the stasis field containing the object in question. "The Infinite Collector has imprinted an advanced genetic recognition system on it however. Only Major Hebert can draw the sword from its scabbard and use it safely."

By the angry posture of the speaker, several Tech-Priests and servitors must have discovered it the hard way xenos artefacts could and would kill persons who weren't supposed to touch them.

"Swords aren't my weapons of predilection," admitted the Major. "And this Nebula's Shard sounds far too dangerous for my level of swordsmanship. I will let you studying it for the time being."

"Thank you," said in a voice apparently sincere the Explorator. "But you still need lessons to learn fighting at close-quarters and a teacher has just proposed himself..."

Gavreel groaned. He really had to improve his negotiation skills for the next time he would have to bargain with Lankovar.

* * *

 **Vice Admiral Vortigern Von Drenthe the Eighth**

From the bridge of the _Holy Wind_ , the world he was watching was giving an expression of serenity. Mining and merchant ships were travelling in neat lines to the shipyards and orbital constructions around Wuhan. Promethium tankers were selling their precious cargo to the Cartels and other mega-corporations dominating the economic life of the Hive World. Warships and trade carracks were leaving their berths to return to their homeworld or sell the goods in their hulks in another system of the Nyx Sector.

The debris of the naval battle between the _Great Tithe_ , the _Light of Intolerance_ and the _Anvil of Persecution_ had been towed to the scrap yards or served as target practises for his gunners. In appearance, it was like the events of the last month had been a bad dream.

If only it was the truth. While on the outside the planet he had in front of his eyes was peaceful, there had been severe upheavals. Production had resumed and the tech-priests had thrown the corpses of many traitors and rebels in their pools of metal in fusion, but the consequences of the Inquisitorial feud would shake Wuhan for decades. The military situation had been resolved rapidly but this meant nothing for the political problems. Any Planetary Governor's demise was bound to create some problems, but the death of Chen Cao had been anything but natural and his successor was not interested in a peaceful transition.

The Vice-Admiral did not usually care about who was ruling a planet – the nobles he had met in his long and distinguished career were useless and interchangeable – but Hongfeng Cao was a really unpleasant bugger and had already begun to confiscate assets of his rivals right and left. The purges of the nobility had not yet started – the Inquisitors had killed a lot of their House leaders – but he had a feeling it would not be long in coming. The dismissal of the PDF Marshal and the hostility of the current Pontifex Mundi were obvious signs supporting this theory.

One day, someone was going to put a dagger – perhaps coated in neurotoxin or another agonising poison - in the new Governor's back and the sooner, the better. It didn't do anything for his current predicament, though.

"So Hongfeng Cao wants a grand ball after all these parades and stupid feasts he ordered." Tradition and circumstances had made certain there would be celebrations, but Vortigern von Drenthe had hoped the colours, the songs and the ceremonies would be at least passable.

It went without saying they had been no such luck and the detachments he had sent walking on the great streets of the capital hive had been rather grumpy and disgusted after the ridiculous manoeuvres they had to present over and over again before an assistance which understood nothing to war.

"He wants a grand masked ball and he insists on your presence, this time," his chief of staff affirmed with a calm and stoicism the cadets of Kar Duniash should really be inspired to imitate. His loyal subordinates had also a lot of practise, unfortunately. Out-of-the-norm demands were the average when you dealt with fat and useless nobles.

"Of course he does." The senior officer of the Imperial Navy in-system shrugged. "Correct me if I say something troubling, but I thought the principle of these events was for everyone to be anonymous. If the Governor's courtesans choose the costumes for everyone..."

He didn't finish the sentence but his subordinate nodded, understanding the meaning. Given the number of spies every Lord-Magnate and the nobles paid to know the secrets of state, every influential aristocrat would know who had received which costume.

"At least we know the Governor's feelings towards your person are not friendly –if the costume he demands you wear is any indication," noted the naval officer.

Vortigern grunted. He had never hidden his dislike of Hongfeng Cao; the fat bugger had been no friend of the Navy and had rubbed him the wrong way. For this fat mass of grease, nothing more mattered than his own rise to power. Guardsmen, nobles, servants and Ecclesiarchy priests: they were all tools to support or bleed in his ascension.

"Show me," he ordered and a data-slate was handed to him. The press of a button materialised an image in the air and for a moment he tried to see what in the name of the Emperor he was seeing. For a second or two, he didn't believe his eyes and closed them in consternation before articulating a few words. "I've seen xenos clothed with far more respectable outfits."

This was the polite version of what he intended to say. Red, gold and a costume looking like these dumb buffoons animating the large throne room of the Cao palace...no doubt Hongfeng Cao thought he was funny.

"Red and gold. Red and gold! Are you sure I can't say a mysterious illness has struck me for tonight?" A Vice-Admiral of His Most Holy Majesty should not speak in a pleading tone, but given the laughs he was going to receive if he went to this ball he felt he had the right to search any excuse to avoid this humiliation.

"I would advise against it, Admiral." The grimace on his subordinate's visage convinced him not to push on this path. "The bugger – pardon, our great and glorious Planetary Governor – has already cancelled the production of the Barbarian-class Interceptors to replace them by the Inferno-class his companies breveted. I would not put it past him to cancel other military contracts you supported by sheer spite."

"What a joyous day," he had known the bad performance at Petersburg, Fay and Harbin of the Interceptors had likely condemned them to an ignoble retirement, but if Wuhan demanded their withdrawal from the battlefields, it was quite likely Nyx would follow their move once they read the officers' reports. "Very well, tell Cao's liaison I will be here."

Some the sacrifices he had to make in the name of the Navy worried him. They didn't teach how to be polite with the civilian morons they were forced to listen to at the Academy.

"Now what is the status of this new squadron the Magos Explorator Desmerius Lankovar is gathering?"

"As we're speaking, this is a very light squadron, Admiral. Aside the cruiser _Magos Laurentis_ serving as his flagship, he has the _Gracious Overlord_ \- a Gauntlet-class corvette Fay authorities gave him – one Hippopotamus-class destroyer, two supply ships and one troop transport."

"Plus three Guard regiments the Governor was happy to 'loan' him as long as he remained in the Nyx Sector." Added the Vice-Admiral who to his great sorrow had a few clues his retirement would not come soon.

"Yes, them too," But yes, sounding like this, this was not a huge force when the threat of orcs in the Sector was very much real. "What does the Magos want to do with them?"

"Don't try to guess the intentions of the Tech-Priests," said gravely Vortigern. "There is only madness waiting for you on this road."

"Yes, Admiral."

* * *

 **Major Taylor Hebert**

"You aren't serious."

The robe was magnificent, Taylor was forced to admit. When she touched it, the feeling was similar to the silk she had produced with her spiders at Brockton. It had probably a higher price tag than the most expensive fashion shops of Boston or New York, now that she thought about it.

There was no way she could afford to buy this robe with her funds, and it was after she had earned thousands of Throne Gelts for her victories against the orks. It was a Chinese dress –though the name and the origins must have been lost centuries ago. The short sleeves which were supposed to cover her forearms had sapphires – or gemstones looking like the blue-coloured jewels – decorating them. The azure colour of the cloth had dark and gold threads to make it more spectacular. Holding it vertically, the other gemstones and the robe material shone and moved like a slow cascade. On the bad side, the cleavage was almost indecent and the robe's rear would leave half of the back naked.

This was absolutely not the robe a Major of the Imperial Guard should wear. This was the robe of a woman noble, and not a poor one. The upper classes of Brockton like the Major and his friends had not worn such clothes when the Undersiders and she had disturbed their little victory party.

"There must have been a mistake," Weaver said, trying to keep her voice posed. It would not do to show how desperate she was. She had not worn a robe or any really feminine clothes since...forever. With Brockton in ruins, the Endbringer fights, the Slaughterhouse Nine, Lung and Coil, there had been little incitation to improve her image as a teenage girl. The fact her former best friend Emma had liked modelling had just been another incitation not to care about the latest mode trends.

"There is no mistake, Major Hebert," replied the woman who had brought her the azure robe. "His Most Graceful Grace the Governor and his councillors were very clear you were to receive these clothes for the masked ball."

Ah, yes she had almost forgotten the other clothes. First there was the mask. It was black, silver and of course azure, in a mode mixing the Venetian and Chinese models of Earth. Unlike the Venetian masks however, it was covering completely the visage. How her face was going to fit into it while they had not done a moulding of her visage before was a mystery. Still, the mask was the best part. In second came the undergarments and a rapid glance at them was enough to make her cheeks blush a deep red. It seemed the Wuhanese noblewomen conception of lingerie was extremely...bold. The panties and the bras were a shade of blue so light there were almost transparent. And after that came the sandals. Gold and blue with ten centimetres-high heels, these shoes looked terribly uncomfortable and Taylor was sure she was going to break one ankle the moment she had to walk a few steps unaided.

"But," several sentences came to her mind as excuses. 'I don't want the ball invitees to think I'm a prostitute' would have the merit to be honest but might create trouble between the Governor household and her regiment. 'I am an officer of the Guard and would prefer something looking like a uniform' may be less honest but more diplomatic and impossible to prove. In the end, the former supervillain decided to act on some information she had learned during the endless medal ceremonies awards.

"Please forgive me if I made an incorrect assumption, but I thought only the Governors, his relatives and his allies had the right to wear the azure colour."

"Your understanding of our customs is accurate, Major." The small smile on the Wuhanese woman's lips was betraying her amusement.

Oh, by Scion and his Golden Light. Taylor was evidently not a relative of the Governor, there were no blood ties tying her with these pompous nobles. That left the 'ally' status and she was ready to bet her monthly pay this was exactly what the Governor in mind. If she dressed like this, she would tell the audience of the ball that she had struck a deal with the highest authority of Wuhan.

With this realisation, her regard on the Wuhanese woman in front of her changed and it did not take long to arrive to the logical conclusion.

"You're not a helper for the robes, aren't you? You're an emissary."

"Well-reasoned, Major," There was a hint of compliment and the noblewoman bowed slightly. As she inclined her head, the colour of her hairs was slightly altered and so were the traits of her visage. Instead of the previous shade of brown, the elaborate hairdressing was showing blue-black hairs. There had been a minor scar and two spots on her cheeks seconds before; now these imperfections had disappeared like they had never existed. Deep inside, she had to admit this was a very impressive cosmetic technology there...perfect for spies and assassins.

"I am indeed an emissary. My name is Wei Cao, Governor Hongfeng Cao's second daughter. I come bearing an offer from my father in his title of ruler of Hive Cao-Lai."

Yep, Taylor really didn't like where this was going. She had done best to stay away from politics when she was in the Fay System, and what she had seen here in the Wuhanese Hives had not been of a nature to change her mind. She didn't know how convincing she looked – she suspected the answer was 'not very' – but the former supervillain feigned ignorance.

"Should not a negotiation like this go through Colonel Larkine first?" She demanded in a reasonable voice.

Wei Cao golden eyes pierced her like they could see her very thoughts.

"Please, Major. The Colonel is a good officer, but his skills when it is time to purge the xenos and the traitors are far less useful than yours. Did you think the Governor's loyal agents were so blind they wouldn't be able to report your formidable insect-manipulation powers inside one of our own Hive? Magos Explorator Lankovar was able to disable and collect the information reported by machine-spirits, but you were in one of the greatest Hives of Wuhan. Once communications were re-established after this dreadful coup, the Governor security's services had thousands of agents as witnesses...discovering the truth wasn't that difficult."

Well, the notion of keeping a low profile died there. Taylor hadn't been exactly an anonymous figure of course before – being the second-in-command of a Guard regiment was a visible military assignment – but it was not the same thing. That said, until now she had not seen her image projected on every hololith and projector the Wuhanese used for the news and their information-propaganda services.

"My parahuman powers aren't illegal under Imperial law since they aren't Warp-based in nature," she defended herself to the older woman before sitting on a cushioned seat. Wei Cao looked like a twenty-five year-old or so but with the rejuvenation process available to the nobility, it was impossible to guess her real age. "The dissimulation was done to avoid...disagreements with the Inquisition and certain factions."

"And you were right to do so," agreed Wei. The Wuhanese imitated her and seated on the other seat of the room. Now that she examined her in detail, Taylor saw that she was half a head taller than her but discreet grey-white heels had compensated the difference.

Wei Cao was slim and had the body of a model. Not for her the muscles Taylor and the rest of the Guardswomen had strengthened in hundreds of hours of physical exercise. It did not mean she was not dangerous of course: just with two bugs and her own eyes, the parahuman could tell three of her nails on each hand were hollow and filled with unknown substances, the innocent stick in the black-blue hairs had a core of metal – certainly a short blade – and the earrings in black colour were emitting suspect vibrations which had nothing to do with vox-communications.

"Pontifex Mundi Jasonius is not a tolerant man; it was not a mistake for him to support a pretender-Inquisitor from Gathalamor. But his influence after the assassination of Governor Chen Cao has collapsed and his hateful sermons in the aftermath of the victory have made him a very unpopular figure. He's getting desperate and at least six of his subordinates are plotting to replace him."

"And you think that if I walk in an azure dress he is going to lose his wits?"

"Oh, no," the smile of the Cao woman was somewhat frightening. It reminded her of the crocodile-like Tarellians she had killed in Hive Asao. "He has already lost whatever intelligence he had in his skull and hired several assassins for tonight. They have orders to kill everyone wearing azure."

"And an assassination attempt against an officer of the Imperial guard is a capital crime." Weaver finished, half-impressed by the simplicity of the scheme and half-disgusted by how low the rulers of this Hive World were ready to sink in the name of their ridiculous feuds. After several days on Wuhan, she was thinking she had been lucky to arrive on Fay; the Governor there had been an incompetent figure, but the main enemies had been the orks and these greenskins weren't the type of stabbing you in the back.

Had the C'Tan managed to defeat Trazyn and ravage this world, would they have united against the alien threat or continued their petty bickering until Iash'uddra drowned them in a metallic tide? Weaver was ready to bet on the latter. Supervillains of Brockton Bay were sometimes ready to call for truces when bigger threats were around, but the nobles of Wuhan didn't seem to understand the concept.

"Why should I disguise myself and risk my life for the Governor's plan? Whether it works or not, the result will be the same for the Fay 20th. Now that I think about it, it's better for me to stay outside politics. When the Guard regiments will leave Wuhan, the Ecclesiarchy and your enemies will forget us. We are no threat to them."

"You underestimate how vengeful the Pontifex and his cronies can be for the smallest slights, I think." Wei Cao stood to seize something next to the cart she had used to transport several robe-holders and the accessories. Once she sat again, the Wuhanese noblewoman had three scrolls of what looked to be old-fashioned parchment in her impeccably manicured hands.

Then she handed the one with green ribbons to Taylor. The bug-controller opened it and read the text. It was full of aggrandising expressions proclaiming how generous the Governor Hongfeng Cao was, but the message underneath was not difficult to understand.

"The Governor promises to re-equip our regiment?" Some incredulity must have transpired in her question because Wei raised an eyebrow with an approving expression. "Does he realise how under-mechanised we are?"

By all rights, the Fay 20th should have fielded about two hundred Chimeras for its ten companies, but between the disastrous losses against the orks and the administrating duties left by the fall of Boris Byukur, they had only been able to take forty Chimeras with them and forty-five Sentinels. The rest of the engines were overwhelmingly consisting of Tauros and these light cars were for rapid assaults, not entrenched enemies. In the first minutes of the attack of the Hive, they had proven...useless to crush entrenched fanatics.

"According to General Yu, you need about a hundred and eighty Chimeras, sixty Sentinels plus the usual repairing and supply vehicles." Wei commented like if it was the most natural thing of the world. "A brand-new Chimera is worth two million Thrones, a Sentinel a quarter of a million. Once the support vehicles are added, the bill will be around four hundred million Throne Gelts. It is pocket change for any Lord-Magnate, never mind my father."

And here she thought the award of a quarter of a million she had been granted after the two battles of Ramev's Pass was a big amount of gold...these people were so rich they must have forgotten the value of money generations ago.

"And you are ready to offer this if I wear this dress and go to the masked ball?" Either she had missed something or these nobles were completely crazy. "It sounds too good to be true."

"Don't forget the risks of assassination," reminded her politely the daughter of House Cao. "But yes, this is indeed the deal." Three seconds passed before the noblewoman admitted in a whisper the reason of this unexplainable generosity. "The Pontifex is under investigation by his own superiors and it is quite likely Wuhan will be able to recover a few of the trillions he has misappropriated and hidden in his secret accounts."

Fine, the Governor was not generous at all; he was just convinced he was going to grab a bigger amount of money than the millions which would go in military spending. And Taylor was not naive: the move was going to be advertised and broadcasted all over the planet. In the news it would probably be presented as an impressive gesture from the new governor; he provided superior weapons to the soldiers who had at the price of hundreds lives put an end to the Inquisitors-pretenders' threat.

In a way it didn't matter. The nobles were greedy and amoral and it was just an ugly reality that wouldn't be changed next morning. Even if she killed every aristocrat in this Hive, there was no doubt others would take their place. Refusing the deal would just send her regiment in battle on another battlefield where they would lack adequate armour and heavy weapons. In the end, was her will to avoid politics stronger than the lives of the men and women following her orders?

She watched the antique red Governor's sea for a few seconds before taking her decision.

"I accept," the young parahuman affirmed, trying not to sigh.

"A wise decision," to her credit, Wei Cao did not gloat or showed a pompous expression after her agreement.

But she has still two other scrolls in her hands. This meant two other bargains, one with azure and the other with red ribbons.

"What information is in those two?"

Wei licked her lips, but it had nothing predatory or joyful. Instead, she appeared embarrassed.

"This document, should you accept, would confer you the rank of General..."

"I pass." No way was she going to accept this deal. She had already difficulties coping with the difficulties of a second-in-command in a Guard regiment; if she hadn't had her insects to improve her communication and command skills, the previous battles would have been costly defeats she was sure. Becoming a Colonel was over her capabilities; a title of General would be completely wasted on her.

"This is a great honour."

"I'm sure it is," Weaver acknowledged. "Do I want to pay the price the Governor fixed for this commission?"

The Governor's emissary opened fast her mouth but the 'yes' did not come when their eyes met. Yes, that was what she had been thinking. Moreover, the military rank proposed would probably be one of PDF General, not a Guard General. The Governor of Wuhan could do what he wanted with the hierarchy of his armed forces – provided said armies enforced the Imperium rule over Wuhan, it went without saying. But his influence over the Guard promotions was not that absolute and the headquarters of the Sector were at Nyx, not on Wuhan.

"Your decision is regrettable and disappointing." The small pout did not cause Taylor much guilt. The scroll with red ribbons was set aside. This left the scroll in the colours of the Governor's House.

"And the third proposal is?"

This time Wei Cao looked distinctly ill-at-ease.

"A marriage."

"No."

The word had burst out her mouth. Taylor had not taken the time to think. She was sixteen and there was no way she was going to say 'yes' to someone right now. She was too young and no desire to be married to a noble who would try to manipulate, poison or deceive her the moment they exchanged ring on the altar.

"You did not even listen to the full proposal," the Wuhanese woman appeared hurt by her curt refusal. Taylor wasn't able to say if the sadness on her pale visage was feigned or not.

"I don't need to," Weaver replied. "I have no intention to marry anyone this year, and even if I did it wouldn't be for politics or another advantage given by your Governor."

An emotion she wasn't able to decipher passed on Wei Cao's face before disappearing as quickly as it had emerged. With a grace and elegance Taylor knew she had never had in her, the noblewoman stood up and opened another case on the chariot and drew out another robe, one which was a combination of red and azure on the same model as the one she was supposed to wear.

"Very well, but remember the proposition is still valid should you change your mind."

It was a polite affirmation, but it was the way Wei Cao placed the other robe next to hers' that was important. There was no pleading, but despite her limited knowledge of dresses and style, Taylor was able to see the two robes really complimented each other well.

"The proposition of marriage was for you and me, isn't it?" The survivor of Earth Bet demanded.

"I am one of five possible candidates," admitted Wei. "My father wasn't sure if you preferred men or women."

Taylor tried not to blush...a doomed enterprise from the start. She had really not imagined her sexual preferences would be a topic today and she was always uncomfortable when the subject arrived in the conversation. Truly, what was there to discuss? She was not pretty, she was too tall, and she had no breasts to speak of. The people who were interested in her were attracted by her powers, not by her body. And she preferred boys.

Somehow, the bug-controller still felt the need to activate her powers and bleed her emotions into the nearby razorbeetles when Wei Cao stripped of her white-grey attire with no sense of modesty whatsoever. Fortunately, the Wuhanese noble jumped into her ball gown with an unnatural speed and her naked body was soon no longer visible...though the red-azure cloth nicely supported all the right curves.

With an effort of will, Taylor pushed away these thoughts, startled how she had stared at the Wuhanese and praying that Wei had not seen it. By the amused look she was sent, this was not the case.

"Your turn," said the noble once she had added to her set a new pair of earrings, a sort of butterfly in her hair and a silver pair of high heels. Only the mask remained on the bed.

Taylor swallowed deeply before removing her uniform and donning the new undergarments as fast as she could. Then came the turn of the robe, which was thankfully easy to wear. Jewellery in form of rings, earrings and a golden necklace with a big blue gemstone were added. In a few seconds, it was over...but the harshest difficulty was yet to come: her undisciplined long hairs were to be done in the Wuhanese fashion, and unavoidably it took several minutes of suffering and various substances which made her hairs get a shade of dark black-blue.

"Is this marriage a good thing for you anyway?" The parahuman wondered out loud as her hairs took a flawless appearance, one they had never been given before. "I have...my skills but I am just a Major of the Imperial Guard and while I have a few thousand Throne Gelts in my account, my fortune is nothing compared to the one of your House."

"I am the second daughter of the Governor, fifth in the order of succession," explained Wei as she put the final adjustments on Taylor's hairs. There was no condemnation in her tone, but there was no joy either. "The fortune you are speaking of is indeed my House...but it is not mine by rights and never will be. My eldest sister Zhi will inherit the Governorship should a traditional succession transition take place after the Governor's death and three of my brothers come before me too."

Given the horrors and the disappearances which were rumoured to have happened after the previous Governor's death, it was not hard to see why the noblewoman was less than enthusiastic at this outcome.

"And how exactly this marriage is supposed to change this?" The rebranded supervillain felt curious. "Officers of His Most Holy Majesty are neither renowned for their wealth nor their long life expectancies."

"My father in his persona of majority shareholder of the Wuhan-Cao Cartel told us that the one who married you would earn one per-cent of the total shares."

The hair-dressing was over and they stood up. Taylor grimaced as the unfamiliar shape of the high heels took its toll on her feet and ankles. Wei handed her the multi-coloured mask in one hand while taking a gold-red-azure one to hide her identity away.

"It must be a lot of Throne Gelts," she remarked. One per-cent was a small number, but they were speaking of the biggest Wuhanese Cartel – or mega-corporation or gigantic industrial group depending on whatever you wanted to name it – and the diverse revenues had to be in the billions.

In her thoughts though, she cursed the Governor to play these little games on her back. Wei had said 'us' which meant they were others who were going to harass her in the hope of gaining the jackpot. Really and people wondered why the soldiers hated politics.

"In the last Terran year, owning a one per-cent share of the Wuhan-Cao Cartel granted you an income of eight hundred sixty-seven billion Throne Gelts per T-month."

Weaver stared open-mouthed for a good fifteen seconds before closing her mouth. At least her opinion these nobles were utterly and completely crazy had just been verified.

"My answer stays the same." The Major of the Fay 20th said. "I am not interested in marrying anyone."

Taylor placed the mask against her visage and to her surprise, the material softly fitted like a second skin, caressing her forehead, cheeks and jaw, and proving very comfortable to breathe through. Next to her, the daughter of the Governor imitated her, and the effect was impressive seen from the outside. The mask's features showed someone completely different and with a far more dignified visage. If someone recognised you under this mask, it was because they knew who you were from the beginning.

"In this case, may I ask for a place on your staff?" The question came as she opened the door and began to walk in the corridor. Wow, the noblewoman was really eager to get out of the crossfire, wasn't she?

"I have already the women and men I need," Taylor answered as they passed under lustres of crystal, contemplated ugly paintings of the former Wuhan Governors and other indecent decorations. The walk was slow, because the heels at her feet were pure murder. "And my subordinates are expected to fight like any guardsman or guardswoman if the circumstances are dire enough."

Wei Cao had been until now polite, so Taylor didn't tell her loudly how dangerous it would be for someone like her to be on the frontlines. Iash'uddra had proven beyond doubt that sometimes experiences guardsmen were massacred by the kind of threats lurking in the shadows of this galaxy. Wei Cao had no parahuman powers, and while she had likely poison in her false nails for self-defence, the effect against an ork in a hand-to-hand battle was going to result in her death.

"I realise my military credentials are poor compared to the rest of your staff, but my financial and negotiating abilities would certainly able to compensate."

That was a good point, actually. The real question was if she and the rest of the regiment could trust any sentence coming out of the Wuhanese mouth...and the answer was probably not. A few women of the 2nd Company had told her how marriages between nobles were market transactions, and Wei Cao wanted more money and more power. It was not exactly a good combination for creating trust and honesty between them.

"I will think about it." She said in a hurry as a man silently walked behind them. Too bad for him, the moment he had moved in her direction, the razorbeetles she had left behind had informed her of his suspect behaviour. And damn, this was a very weird dagger he had underneath his cloak.

"Please give me a chance, Major."

The assassin was two metres away from stabbing her hostess in the neck when the white razorbeetle tore his throat apart. The would-be assassin collapsed with an uncomprehending look on his face, his dagger falling and creating a deafened clang on the great carpet covering the floor.

"Survive the ball without my help, and I will consider it." The Major told the potential new recruit, who had paled considerably seeing the corpse.

* * *

 **Colonel Daviev Larkine**

When the nobles said 'ball', the definition was really not the same employed by normal humans. Merchants, soldiers and common civilians would take it as an opportunity to develop their network of allies, improve their businesses or generally meet new people. Nobles, on the other hand, seemed to generally take it as an opportunity to practise the worst excesses humanity was capable of. The murders of their rivals by poison or exotic weapons seemed to come first, but the crowd of fat and inbred aristocrats was also fond of gorging itself of delicate food for hours. Hundreds of men and women – some barely deserving the name such were the ravages of augmentation and genetic surgery on their body – were drowning their sorrows and their triumphs in the very expensive alcoholic beverages. As for the rest of their behaviour, the less said about it. 'Orgy' and 'debauchery' were underwhelming words which were not describing accurately how low the nobility of Wuhan had sunken.

It was difficult to say which event had been the worse in this festival of depravation. Had it been the arrival of the governor in the ballroom, the small noble making his grand entrance on a horrid three meters-tall blue-green throne towed by naked young men? Maybe, though they had been other awful scenes. The local leader of His Most Holy Majesty's Church being dragged away by a company of guards after someone had poured boiling syrup on his face deserved a mention. A cousin of a Lord-Magnate had been drowned in a tank-sized recipient full of cream and sweets. Two of the Governor's children had never arrived to the gathering, and there were whispers spreading they had tragically fallen down the marble stairs.

"How many regiments do you think we could have equipped and trained with the budget of this ball?" The Colonel asked to his company officers around him.

In other circumstances, he would have whispered from the balcony he and the commanders of his regiment were staying, but given the ruckus the nobles were causing next and below them, the chances of being heard tonight and arrested for a crime of lese-majesty were not high. Dozens of obese old men were shouting for more food and drinks when they were dining on tables of gold and marble.

"A minimum of ten, I believe," answered Captain Steph Urskovoy of 1st Company. The other Captains nodded or grunted in agreement. "We heard from Major Hebert how they were ready to pay for the engines we needed just because they wanted us to wear these costumes...these people are not spending like us, Colonel."

Larkine nodded, before throwing a glance at his second-in-command who was in deep conversation with Magos Lankovar. The young woman had removed the heels she had arrived with and replaced them with a pair of boots once the Lieutenant serving as her chief of staff had brought new shoes for the women of the regiment. Coats and other clothes had also been added over their dresses. The organisers of this ball may have given the officers conservative robes by their standards, but this didn't mean much when the noblemen and noblewomen were half-naked.

"Have you seen what they did to the Tarellians and the rest of the Inquisitorial survivors? These people are nothing like us," grunted Captain Milolav Firov of 9th Company. The mood went darker after this sentence. Guard officers were generally not what one could call friends of xenos and traitors, but the summary executions of xenos and men who had surrendered in good faith was leaving a bad taste. The Inquisitors had given the orders; the Penal soldiers had obeyed and free will was not in play when you had an explosive device around your neck.

But since the stealing menace self-styling itself the Infinite Collector had spirited the Inquisitors away, the nobility had decided crucifying and burning alive the prisoners of war was entertaining. Many of the Fay Guardsmen had escaped to vomit their stomach's content in the toilets after these 'celebrations'.

"The sooner we leave this madhouse, the better it will be for our regiment's sanity...absolute power corrupts absolutely."

Daviev didn't know who had spoken, but he found himself in agreement. Why Magos Lankovar had manifested the desire to travel to the Andes System was still a mystery, but it was definitely less dangerous than staying with these inbred parasites. With a little luck, the nobles would mutually kill each other before their eventual return...it was not forbidden to dream.


	14. Peril Interlude Blades of Fate

**Peril Interlude**

 **Blades of Fate**

 **Somewhere in the Webway**

 **Seer Maea Teallysis**

Maea felt the threads of fate change long before there was any warning of their presence. With a curt gesture, she ordered her Ranger escort to stop where they stood. Her Farseer superiors had not mentioned allies operating close to her in this distant part of the Webway. It had been many cycles ago, of course, and the Elders of Malan'tai actions and predictions could have been altered by another threat. Or more likely, the beings waiting for them near the Gate of Yl'ra'tyren weren't allies at all.

Taking a great inspiration and trusting her guards, the young Seer abandoned her focus on the near-invisible walls of the Webway and turned all her attention on the paths she and her fellow Asuryani had been walking. In a ritualised gesture she had perfected in sixty cycles, the runes were cast, shimmering and answering the small psychic flow she was directing in them.

Maea had expected unclear visions followed by a long and difficult period of interpretation, but it was not to be. Implacably, the rune of Rebirth soared alone, relegating the rest of her Seer possessions to the second plan. And when the vision seized her, it was clear and terrible. Before the Gate that was their fastest and easiest path to return to their home, an Asuryani force was emerging and marshalled in battle-formation. She had not the gifts of her Rangers around her to estimate the military skill of these newcomers, but she saw a majority of Dire Avengers, supported by minor squads of Fire Dragons, Howling Banshee and Striking Scorpions. In the back of the group came the most powerful assets: three Dark Reapers and as many Falcon grav tanks. And unavoidably this powerful force had an Exarch Dire Avenger and a Farseer in command. These were not Malan'tai warriors. None of these Asuryani wore the light green armour, the blue helmet or the black weapons of her beloved Craftworld. No, these Asuryani wore pure white with a green helmet, identifying beyond doubt their allegiance.

The Farseer felt immediately her rune-casting the instant she posed her eyes on him, and the moment after a ripple of power ended her attempt and forced her to open her eyes anew, stopping the thread from developing further.

Maea gasped in mild pain once the effects of the trance ended. This was not the first time she was stopped like this, but it did not make it any more pleasant.

"What have you seen, Honoured Seer?" asked Gilfarian, the oldest and most experienced Ranger she had to keep her safe.

"The warriors of Biel-tan are at the Gate of Yl'ra'tyren." She answered with utmost certainty. Between the Rune of Rebirth shining brilliantly and the vision, she had rarely felt the path ahead of her clearer.

A few loud curses told her the revelation was not filling the soul-stones of her escort with joy.

"And the way they have taken position here...they are waiting for us," she said as one of the two Rangers in her back swore.

"Can we avoid them?" Gilfarian demanded her.

"No, their Farseer saw me." She didn't say more but the Ranger having accepted to protect her during her operations understood her very-well. Against a thousand of cycles-old war-like Asuryani trapped on the Path of the Seer, her skills were those of a newborn against a God.

"By Khaine's bloody hands..." cursed one of her guardians forming the rear-guard. Maea frowned but didn't say anything. When she had left the Craftworld for the first time, she had truly believed the Council was right to search an alliance with the powerful Craftworld. The armies of Biel-tan were extremely strong, gained uncountable successes in their task of reclaiming the Maiden Worlds and purifying the galaxy from the vermin crawling in the ruins of their fallen Empire.

The Rangers and hundreds of the Aspect Warriors she had met in her long exploration had told her this view was utterly naive and absolutely not shared by the exploration parties of Malan'tai. Yes, the armies of Biel-tan were strong...but they were constantly recruiting and expanding, dooming their young generations on the Path of War. Yes, great successes had been won but their losses in lives were horrendous and they had suffered many defeats their emissaries weren't keen to share. And as several Rangers had spoken, a lot of the enmity the lesser races felt towards the Asuryani lied in the fact Biel-tan warriors were arriving to slaughter them and then leaving as quickly as they had left, making the lives of several Craftworlds incredibly difficult for no good reason at all.

Maea Teallysis did not know if these whispers were the truth. She had met only four times Biel-tan emissaries in her life, and all had been at formal ceremonies where every Asuryani tried to present nothing but perfection and grace. The chance to see the Tempest of Blades waging war had always been refused to her...until this cycle.

"We can't avoid them...we should hear their intentions." In truth, she could feel only two threads now and it didn't take a Seer to guess what they were. Either they were meeting the Biel-tan force on their own conditions or the Farseer would ensure they were caught up and then the confrontation would happen, but with a weakened position for Malan'tai.

Gilfarian had arrived to the same reasoning and curtly nodded. Maea could tell he was not pleased by it, half of his noble visage being covered was not sufficient to hide his displeasure.

"May the blessings of Isha protect us...I lead the way."

Their progression to the Gate was uneventful, not that she had expected anything else. No Craftworld was highly active in these tunnels, the sections were devoid of any breach and the Drukhari had never been seen raiding here.

The Webway corridor ended and the Gate was in front of them.

The host of Biel-tan was waiting for them. The vision had left no doubt there were many Aspect Warriors waiting for them, but watching the white line of armours with her own eyes was something else. The Webway avenue before the Gate was projecting the illusion of richly decorated natural cavern and the Asuryani of Biel-tan were covering it. There had to be over a hundred warriors gathered here but Maea knew by reputation it was only a tiny detachment from this Craftworld – Malan'tai on the other hand would never have consented to send away a force like this without cycles of seer-casting and debates.

Gilfarian made a rapid series of hand-moves while he and his Rangers took position behind her. She did not manage to see the totality of the message, but in the first part the Ranger was saying the Biel-Tan force was too imbalanced. Focusing on them, it was hard not to recognise he was right. There were many Aspects represented in this small army, but the majority of the squads were Dire Avengers. The second and third most numerous Aspects, the Fire Dragons and the Striking Scorpions, were not fielding as many warriors together as the fiery Avengers and their Avenger Shuriken Catapults.

There was a moment of silence before the ranks of their fellow Asuryani pivoted like blades in the wind and took a new formation looking like a minor honour guard, revealing the tall Farseer behind them with his imposing and decorated red robes. Runes of protection were everywhere on his mask and his armour. She was still a good distance away, but already she could feel the sheer power the elder lost on the Path of the Seer was channelling.

"May the stars shine over your path, allies of Malan'tai, fellow children of Asuryan." The words of the greeting were noble, but with Aeldari tongue the vocabulary was only part of the message. The inflexion you pronounced a sentence, the subtleties of the tongue, were as important as the words themselves if not more. And the way the Farseer was speaking...it was not a tone used to address allies. Vassals and servants, yes, but certainly not allies.

"I am Farseer Vyrion Kaeran of the Noble House of Kaeran, Protector of the Maiden Worlds of Noloc and Eryusis, the Sunsight of Biel-tan. I request your help."

There were so many things wrong in these words Maea almost didn't know where to begin. The most irritant thing was the accentuation spoken for the 'request'. There had been so much pressure nobody had missed it wasn't a 'request' but truly an order. But it was a command they had no choice but to bow since she and the Rangers were six-strong and the Biel-tan warriors were...one hundred and twenty with tank support? In a fight, her escort stood absolutely no chance. The second point was the sheer arrogance behind the list of titles. It was a fierce tradition of Malan'tai that an Eldar let his victories and his honourable acts speak for himself or herself. It was your friends and your allies who gave you the titles, a humble Asuryani didn't try to add names to the ones he owned, this was one of the very differences separating them from the corsairs of Commorragh.

And if this wasn't enough, there was the huge pretension in the 'Sunsight', 'Noble House' and the power he channelled into his speech...

It was good the Seer mask was covering her visage, because she feared her disgust was all but too evident. It seemed that in the end, the arrogance of the Biel-tan Craftworld had a real basis in truth.

"And what does your 'request' entail, Noble Farseer?" Her answer was said with the 'request' accented in the same tone 'hostage' should be pronounced and the 'Noble Farseer' was given a derisive intonation.

The stance of Vyrion Kaeran didn't change. The formation of his Aspect Warriors did. In a choreography reminding her leaves in the middle of a storm, the white armours of the Dire Avengers encircled them swiftly, cutting all avenues of retreat.

"For the first time in a six hundred cycles, my efforts are nearing completion. I have explored the infinity of future paths, prevented uncountable enemies from destroying us and at long last the salvation of our Craftworlds is at hand. I know now where a Sword of Vaul will be in a third of a cycle."

The assertion caught her off-guard. At first all she felt was surprise...and then irritation. The Swords of Vaul were a hundred swords forged by the God Vaul to free Isha and Khurnous from Khaine, every child of Asuryan knew it. All but eight had been lost in the Fall or before, and the rediscovery of one would be a great moment of joy...except Maea was ready to sell her wraithbone runes if the Biel-tan Farseer had any intention to share this weapon with Malan'tai or another Craftworld.

The Swords of Vaul were an inheritance for all Aeldari, but judging by the arrogance and the way he was speaking, Vyrion Kaeran had ambitions of his own whereas the Sword was concerned.

"My predictions are formal, Malan'tai Seer: you will play a crucial role in bringing _Elsar'bryn_ to the Asuryani."

It had been a long time since she sang and listened to the tales of the War in Heaven; she took several seconds to remember whose sword's name this haughty Farseer was referring to. _Elsar'bryn_...this was the name of the seventy-second Sword of Vaul. It was an old name, and could be imperfectly translated to 'Song of the Nebula tearing thorough the Heavens'.

"Whose race is currently in possession of _Elsar'bryn_?" asked Gilfarian in a very disrespectful manner. Not that she was going to blame him...the attitude of the Biel-tan leader was going to create many problems with the Council and the rest of the commanders of Malan'tai no matter the outcome of this quest.

"The Mon-keigh of course, these ignorant parasites have taken what was never theirs."

Maea didn't like the Mon-keigh at all and the Rangers protecting her shared this point of view. But the feelings when Vyrion Kaeran told these words...it was hate. Dangerous and if a Malan'tai Asuryani had showed this much emotion in public, he or she would have received a warning. But neither the Dire Avengers nor the Exarch waiting behind the Farseer moved to tell the 'Sunsight' he had to keep his emotions firmly in check.

"The Bahzhakhain will kill this vermin and the Maiden World they have desecrated with their odious presence will begin its long recovery. This I have seen. This I will accomplish and _Elsar'bryn_ will be returned to the Asuryani."

At this moment, the young Seer really wanted to cast anew her Runes. The first thing she had been taught by her master on her first lesson on the Path of the Seer was to neglect no thread and never believe the skills of a Seer were infallible. The threads of future could shift at the worst moment and in the most improbable ways, and there were enemies of the Primordial Annihilator which had these capacities to oppose the Craftworlds. Isha's tears, she really didn't like at all where it was going. But with the 'request' formulated by a far more powerful Farseer and supported by deadly Aspect Warriors, she was not exactly given the choice.

"I trust there are no more questions?"

Oh, she had a million and one more to ask. But since Vyrion Sunsight Kaeran had turned around and presented her his back to watch the Webway Gate of Yl'ra'tyren, the threads of fate where she obtained her answers were evidently not favoured by Biel-tan.

It was then the mirror surface of the Gate rippled, the warning sign of an imminent activation. Gilfarian and she exchanged surprised looks. The undertone of the Biel-tan host had not told her there were more Aspect Warriors incoming for the battles to come.

It was not an army which stepped through the Gate, but merely a simple squad of Dire Avengers. Another squad of Dire Avengers, she should say. Biel-tan must have surplus of warriors from this Temple Aspect to field so many warriors under a single authority.

Kaeran seemingly didn't react at the arrival of the newcomers, surrounded by Dire Avengers, Fire Dragons and Striking Scorpions. But the Exarch –whose name she still ignored – did not stay immobile. Straight like a freshly forged blade, the warrior lost on the Path of the Warrior walked to one of the seven Asuryani who had just emerged from a different section of the Webway.

Not a word was spoken. The Malan'tai detachment would have heard it. But the small hand-moves half-hidden by the ranks of warriors told that the Farseer may have predicted the opening of the Gate, but neither he nor the Exarch had enjoyed proven been correct. The silent conversation was in a code Maea was not aware of, but the tension in the armours of the Biel-tan Howling Banshees near and the defensive behaviour of the Fire Dragons told her this was not a polite exchange.

The sceptre of Vyrion Kaeran slamming on the crystalline surface of the Webway in a cascade of green sparkles put an end to the vigorous debate.

"The time for these disputes must end," the irritation in the Farseer's voice was palpable. "The Sword of Vaul _Elsar'bryn_ will not stay at the location I saw for long and recovering it later would demand a larger effort from our Craftworld. We march for Osuthanil and without delay." The sceptre hit the ground a second time and the red robes were shaken by a formidable torrent of psychic energy.

Like a single Asuryani, the Biel-tan host reorganised for a progression in the corridors of the Webway. The humble Sunsight and the Exarch were of course in the lead with the Dire Avengers and the Strike Scorpions. Gilfarian and the rest of her Rangers surrounded her for a close-quarters honour guard in the middle, as they were forced to rush away from the fastest path back to Malan'tai. The Biel-tan Aspect Warriors preceded and followed them a courteous distance, Dire Avengers before and Fire Dragons coming after them. The Reapers and the tanks were in the rear-guard. Their fellow Craftworld Asuryani did not try to speak with them, certainly on the Farseer's orders.

Except one.

With an incredible agility, a Dire Avenger jumped to her side and it was so quick that had there been attack, Maea would not have been able to parry in time with the blade to her side. But the newcomer was not interested in murdering her, and removed her white-green helmet, revealing a feminine face with long and pale blond hairs. Orange eyes fixed her with attention and the young Seer had the impression to watch the motion of a terrible predator. It rapidly passed fortunately, and after they continued running in the tunnels, she estimated the Dire Avenger was probably younger than her.

"Maea Teallysis, Seer of Malan'tai," she presented herself to the Dire Avenger. "May the stars shine over your path."

"Yvraine Kaydinn, Dire Avenger of Biel-tan," answered back the warrior who had just talked with the Exarch and showed the limits of her Craftworld's discipline. "I hope by Khaine your blades are sharp for you are going to need them."

* * *

 **Somewhere in Ultima Segmentum**

 **Redoubt of Holy Duty, Secret Inquisitorial Fortress**

 **8.270.289M35**

 **Knight-Errant Psamtic Mehhur**

This was his sixteenth operation in the Knights-Errant and for now, everything was working as expected. The codes of the Inquisitorial Thunderhawk they had transmitted to the approaching fortress had been accepted. No one was shooting at them.

Psamtic had a feeling this was not going to last.

There was no porthole or large bay to watch his surroundings of course; this was a machine of war, not a sightseeing tour. But after a few hours in the upper hold, you rapidly learnt the little signs preceding a landing. The tremors of the hull, the increase and decrease of the roar of the engines and the correction courses may have fooled a non-augmented human, but his Astartes brain recorded them without difficulty.

"Landing in one minute," declared the voice of their pilot from the speaker in the rear. Since the only living beings in this hold were three Space Marines and one woman, none of them noted to be particularly talkative, the announcement only ruptured the silence for a moment.

Psamtic turned imperceptibly his helmet to watch their leader from the advanced lenses of his Astartes armour. It had been months since he had met her, and yet the woman Malcador the Sigillite had presented as 'Contessa' was still a mystery.

The former Thousand Sons had not expected much at the moment of his joining but whatever information the parahuman chose to give, it was little and on her own terms. Psamtic had deduced easily she was one of the survivors from this 'Earth Bet', but from where exactly was unknown. Friends, likes, hobbies, favourite readings...Contessa had not revealed anything. The only certainty was that she was dangerous. Should the three Astartes present in the Thunderhawk try to turn their bolters against her, he was sure she would kill them in one minute maximum.

Contessa rarely wore armours or the like, preferring her impeccable dark suit with white tie and white shirt underneath. In rare occasions –like today – she changed her clothes for a grey power armour with the 'I' of the Inquisition as a golden necklace but this was more because the fight in an environment without oxygen was very probable. Knowledge was power and Psamtic had studied all the same, but all he had managed to discover was that the armour was coming from Mars and this didn't explain anything at all. Sometimes she had the ability to open gates between places separated by thousands of light-years in an Eldar fashion but she didn't always use this capacity – the Thunderhawk they were waiting in was a proof of this statement.

So yes, Contessa was a mysterious woman and there was little chance it was going to change for the next years.

Assuming of course they survived that long. To call the missions they were chosen to dangerous was like to say the Burning of Prospero had been a minor disagreement between the Sixth and the Fifteenth Legion.

Directly facing him on the other side of the Thunderhawk's hold was Subutai, a Legionary of the Fifth Legion. Certainly the best friend he had in the Knights Errant, not that the competition was particularly challenging. Like many Legionaries during the Heresy, Subutai had fought for no side but his own. After the Warmaster was killed and the Legions which had followed him withdrew to the Eye of Terror, the renegade Legionary had fled across the galaxy. How Contessa had managed to recruit him several thousand years later, neither the parahuman nor the Astartes had revealed it. Too bad, it must have been a fascinating story. Otherwise, Subutai and he had a semi-friendship as they talked poetry and songs when they were not on duty.

The third Astartes of their little force was unfortunately closer from Contessa in behaviour. He was a soldier of the Twentieth Legion and in fourteen missions, all Psamtic had ever heard him say were the same three words.

"I am Alpharius."

Blast the head of a treacherous Governor?

"I am Alpharius."

Confuse a thousand-strong cultist organisation with so many stratagems they had taken their own lives in the end?

"I am Alpharius."

The only emblem of his former Legion was on his left pauldron, the rest of the Astartes armour was grey like them. And yet, the two other Astartes could not tell they really trusted this Knight-Errant. The Alpha Legion had always been something few outsiders knew anything about, and during the Heresy they had sided with the Warmaster then disappeared like they had never been here. The Twentieth had no official homeworld, no official end goal and no tactic they weren't reluctant to try in the name of victory. Alpharius or not, the Legionary had created no bond with him and he had not the intention to change this situation.

They were not the only living beings alive in the Thunderhawk. Aside from the pilot – the fourth one since they had 'borrowed' it with Contessa's benediction from this chapter called the Blood Ravens – they were half a dozen elite Stormtroopers in the lower hold and an Astropath in a stasis casket. Each and every one of these survivors had something to atone for. Poor decision-making, treason, defying the Emperor's edicts...he could have listed them but this would have been the affair of days.

But Contessa was recruiting them. Low or high crimes were no barrier, though as always it appeared random and incomprehensible. He had seen her several times remove the head of men and women willing to remove a corrupt Governor and hire mercenaries of less than stellar reputation. For each of them, the oaths were spoken and a light was burning in their heart. Once it was done, they were admitted in the Knights-Errant, for the rest of their lives or until the Emperor came to judge them anew.

For the time being, the opposition they met during each mission was particularly determined and many Knights had seen their long vigil end. It was a hard job, but a worthwhile one. The monsters threatening humanity had to be defeated, and the chance to atone for his failures was more than he had hoped.

"Remember, our duty here is to rescue a parahuman," said Contessa in this voice which as soft as it was frightening. "Kill every tainted creature and false-servant of the Emperor."

Subutai rose first once the Thunderhawk landed heavily. Psamtic followed him, letting the Alpha Legionary take the rear. The metallic ramp opened brutally, revealing a large plaza where dozens of hooded figures were rushing to present something vaguely looking like a welcoming committee. It was too bad for them that no matter how they tried to disguise it, Astartes vision and the precision of his auto-senses could detect the minor mutations on their visages, arms and legs.

If this Inquisitorial Fortress was answering to a higher authority, it was not to the Emperor.

The three Astartes descended the ramp slowly, the Stormtroopers following them in a rigid formation and Contessa coming behind them, almost invisible. It was precisely the point of the manoeuvre, honestly.

A new cohort of deformed men rushed out when the massive golden doors at the other end of the landing area opened. Several were carrying the marks of Inquisitors, but you did not need to be a Psyker to know there was something wrong with the lot. A couple had replaced almost their entire body in augmetics and those were not parts the Mechanicus would have considered doctrinally acceptable. The one leading them was morbidly fat and wore rings, an imposing necklace coursing with blue energy. There were also numerous hooded figures in the back and the unpleasant feelings he got from them told him they were not and had never been human.

"Welcome to the Redoubt of Holy Duty, Inquisitor Ajax" croaked the man – at least Psamtic thought it was a man. There was so much fat on this body.

In answer, he and the rest of the group broke formation, revealing the presence of Contessa in their ranks. The greasy face of the Inquisitor went white in terror and a second later a large stain appeared between his legs. It was...disgusting.

Fortunately or unfortunately for these traitors, a xenos in the back was more reactive and removed his hood, revealing a beak and yellow eyes which stared at the Astartes with a loathing gaze.

"They are not Inquisitor Ajax and his troops. Kill them! Kill them all!"

But Psamtic and the other Astartes had already their bolters in their hands and the roar of the weapons began before the last word of the alien was uttered. Subutai increased the carnage instantly, drawing his power sword and slicing apart the five mutants which were closer to him.

The Stormtroopers were not saying idle either. They were not Astartes and thus had slower reflexes, but their hellguns dispensed the Emperor's Judgement quick enough.

The men and the monsters pretending to be the Inquisitors had absolutely no chance. In mere seconds, the guns of the Knights-Errant transformed them into torn-apart corpses. Some lived long enough to attempt an escape, but were rapidly cut down.

The wave of mutants, cultists and other heretics reacted with this massacre by screams of loathing and a mindless charge. The landing pad inside the fortress had been large, and there were hundreds of these corrupted humans and xenos gathered to see the new arrival. Armed with simple laspistols, lasguns, sticks, chainswords and diverse exotic weaponry, they charged. Their eyes shone in completely wrong colours, their skins were mutated and bearing many scars and two figures in the crowd were using the power of the Warp in an uncontrollable manner. These two were the first to die, and the charge was a bloodbath...for them.

Psamtic and the other Astartes slaughtered them. Their enemies had charged like an unstoppable wave, but the tide was broken down by their three Astartes bodies and the Stormtroopers in the back were finishing with rapid shots and bayonets those who managed to avoid their blades and bolter shells.

Contessa didn't participate in the battle. Like always when there was something necessary to guarantee a flawless victory, the parahuman was doing...whatever she did. In this case, the woman had fought her way to a flyer of unknown origin before using it to slam into the golden doors.

The shockwave and the debris from this improvised ramming attack were...significant.

The cultists and traitorous Inquisitorial servants broke somewhat when they realised the principal avenue of escape was now unavailable to them. 'Somewhat' because with Subutai and the rest of the force's help, they were not that many around living and half a minute later, the toughest of the fighters were agonising and the hundreds other were lying dead.

There was not any time to celebrate, though. This particular mission was time-sensitive – to be realistic, they were not many who weren't – and they rushed to a new door Contessa had just somewhat convinced to open from what happened to be seconds before a pristine wall and an obsolete control panel. The Tech-Priests would have been on their knees by the thousands to acclaim this as a miracle of the Omnissiah or ready to kill her for meddling with the machine spirits, he mused.

They, on the other hand, raced by the overture and climbed forty dusty stairs to emerge in front of a surprised group of enemies. The heretics were gunned down by explosives, lasers and bayonets before they had the time to react.

"The fortress is tainted beyond salvation," Contessa calmly affirmed, drawing her Volkite Serpenta from her holster and discharging two shots in a slime-thing covering the majority of what had been years ago a damage control centre of the Inquisition. The black substance shrieked in pain as it combusted in an inferno. "Kill everyone but the parahuman we've come to seek."

This had the merit of been clear and the Astartes and the Stormtroopers vigorously obeyed it in the minutes to come. Not that there was a lot of hesitation to have when something having the head of an octopus, the body of a lizard creature and the legs of a goat attacked you with blood in its eyes. Thank the Golden Throne, they had brought with them a lot of bolter ammunition to deal with...whatever these things were. As a former Thousands Son, Psamtic had compiled a lot of information on potential enemies but some xenos, tainted creatures and abominations in this war zone were a first for him.

The most deranging part wasn't the bird-like or the tentacles-creatures however. This distinction went to the raving madmen and cultists stopping their desecrations of the corridors and the halls to attack them with ferocity and deranging smiles on their face. Some were shouting battle-cries for the 'feathered angel'. Those were zealots and in a way their willingness to die for Chaos and the madness reigning in his place was far more frightening than a bunch of ugly xenos.

Not that he knew fear, of course. Becoming an Astartes rid yourself of this feeling, and even if it did not, it would take far more than a fallen Inquisitorial Fortress filled with traitors and mutants to make him panic. By the destroyed Legion, the Stormtroopers were able to cope with this situation and methodically eliminate their enemies. There was no reason to hesitate or pause. The enemies of humanity had to die and the sooner the better.

The resistance was extremely unequal as they advanced and killed their way through the equivalent of several companies of guards. A few platoons of mutants were armed like Imperial Guardsmen: flak armour, lasguns, vox-communications and willing to take cover when they faced bolter guns – not that it saved them from Subutai's blade or Alpha's lethal traps. But these were definitely the elite, supported by traitor Inquisitors armed with forbidden and xenos weaponry. The rest would have been lucky to be considered PDF-level and agitated improbable weapons in their reckless assaults.

They all died anyway.

Five hundred eighty-two beings: this was the number of beings he had terminated since the Thunderhawk gunship landed on this fortress of the damned. And he hadn't used a single time his psychic powers per Contessa's instructions.

"We are in time," informed them their leader, hitting with her fist a sculpture and therefore triggering the opening of multiple doors in a seemingly abandoned passage. "Prepare yourselves, the real enemy is waiting for us."

If this had been a Thousand Son speaking or another Astartes, Psamtic would have difficulty taking these words seriously. After all, slaughtering a cultist-mutant force of many thousands was no mean feat when your party numbered exactly ten warriors. But this was Contessa, and in every mission he had served he had never heard her lie or misdirect them in any way. If she said the enemy to come was the real master of the place, he believed her.

The parahuman woman turned to the left and they followed in dispersed formation. She exploded a second door with a plasma gun hidden behind a portrait and they entered...a library?

It appeared a very comfy place. There were a lot of cushioned chairs, large shelves carrying tens of thousands books. And it was far too large to be contained in a space fortress. From left to right, and from top to bottom, all he could see were books, shelves and the furniture to read it tranquilly. It was immense and defying the laws of gravity...and now that he knew what to watch for, he could see the faint shimmering of sorcery.

Contessa did not give any warning. The Volkite Serpenta fired four times, setting aflame each time dozens of books and beginning a large pyre.

"Was this absolutely necessary?" grunted Subutai as the fire spread. "If we burn everything, it is going to be difficult to leave this place alive..."

But Contessa didn't answer. Instead she simply pointed at a space between the shelves where five men had just appeared. They all looked inhumanly perfect and they were all identical. Their aura was of the blackest night and entirely corrupted by Chaos. If he had to guess, Psamtic would hazard they were facing the being responsible for the fall of this place to the Ruinous Powers.

"I was waiting for you, Contessa," exclaimed the five mouths at the same time. And in a concentration of power, flesh and bones, the five sorcerers began to coalesce in a single entity. The soul agonies of betrayed mortals echoed horribly and one Stormtrooper fell to the ground, twisting like he was tortured with invisible weapons. One of his brother-in-arms immediately shot him in the head, putting an end to his torment.

It could have lasted two seconds or two hours, the Knight-Errant had no idea. But when the transformation was over, there was nothing human in front of them. Two large iridescent wings were extending impossibly on the width of the library. Four meters tall, a large beak, and a terrible sceptre in talons no avian creature could have possessed. It had a psychic presence almost on par with the Primarch he had seen him.

The humans and Astartes who had survived the Heresy had given a name for this Demon of the Court of Sorcery and Lies: Lord of Change.

"Brave but foolish, to come here with so few warriors, Contessa," the demon cackled in a malevolent sound. "You're hopelessly outnumbered."

The Lord of Change agitated his demonic focus, and obeying his order the books began to mutate to take demonic forms. Against the walls, on the shelves, under the tables...hundreds if not thousands of Neverborn abandoned their immobility to encircle them. At least it explained why the fortress had fallen so easily. Against such a force, the Inquisitors would have needed a Chapter of Astartes to have the slightest chance of victory...and they had not been that strong-willed in the first place.

"I don't think so."

And Contessa drew a familiar golden card, one he remembered having spent weeks excavating on Angband Quartus. The scream which came from the demon told Psamtic the demon had recognised it too and the abomination was not amused. Their leader began to recite a long list of numbers which were going to activate the null device.

"STOP HER!"

The eight Knights-Errant automatically formed a circle around Contessa as an endless army of demons came straight at them. There was no illusion to mask their presence anymore and Astartes and humans felt the sheer hate and malice of the otherworldly horde.

"FOR THE GREAT MUTATOR!"

There was only one way to answer this challenge.

"FOR THE GOD-EMPEROR!"

Despite possessing eidetic memory, the next moments were almost impossible to recall. The bolters fired desperately their last shells, and then it was a storm of blades and gruelling fight at close quarters. Large portals opened, disgorging more horrors. There were tentacles, maws, tentacles and psychic attacks everywhere. He saw two of the Stormtroopers torn apart, and hundreds of demons devour their remains. He saw the Alpha Legionary be dragged away in a whirlpool of darkness, launching his last plasma grenades to kill the maximum of enemies in death.

And then it was over. A brilliant light blinded all senses. Agony surged in his head and he felt a part of him be pierced by painful needles. From nowhere and everywhere a terrible scream resonated in failure.

"NNOOOOOO! COOOONTEEEESSSSAAAA!"

When the light stopped and his eyes were able to see again, the demons were all gone. The Lord of Change had just been banished and there was no trace of his Neverborn servants. They had won.

The triumph had been extremely heavy though. Of the six Stormtroopers they had started with, only one was still alive. There was no trace of the Alpha Legion Astartes and Subutai's plate had been pierced several times in the chest and the arms. His own power armour was not better. Only Contessa looked uninjured – though her armour was so covered in gore and other fluids the grey colour was almost unrecognisable.

Still, they had accomplished the mission. There would be time to mourn later, he supposed. The fallen Knights-Errant souls were now protected by someone far more powerful than him.

He was about to ask where was their target when at the centre time and space seemed to distort. Psamtic tensed, inwardly preparing himself for another demonic incursion but instead a girl in green clothes and her eyes covered by a green visor which appeared nowhere.

By the looks of it, she was unconscious but her breathing and a rapid check-up told him this was nothing serious.

"This is Vista. Protect her with your life," told him Contessa as he gently took her in his arms.

A loud shock was heard and the ground trembled. Now that they were back in a real library, the former thousand Sons could see the other end of the room...and there were a lot of purple sorcery bathing it. Something was trying to break through...and the Astartes had really no wish to meet the entity behind it.

"Run back to the Thunderhawk! Don't stop no matter what happens!"

Psamtic Mehmur sprinted out of the destroyed library where the fires were spreading out of control, the rest of the Knights-Errant on his heels. In the privacy of his own mind, he just hoped the next mission was going to be simpler. Impossible was not supposed to be a Low Gothic word but this was just getting ridiculous...

* * *

 **Segmentum Solar**

 **Solar Sector**

 **Solar System**

 **Holy Terra**

 **0.108.290M35**

 **Sophia Hess**

At Brockton she had believed the world was divided into two categories: the predators and the preys. And she, Sophia Hess, was definitely a predator.

The day Scion had decided to abandon his career of selfless heroism and rampage across the world, destroying everything and everyone meeting his path, she had understood there was a third category: the monsters.

Those beings did not care how many people they killed. They did not even seem bothered that they were most likely going to die for the devastation they inflicted upon the world. They just wanted the reality to burn.

And Scion had done it. She didn't know why the golden-skinned parahuman had begun his campaign of annihilation by throwing Ayers Rock on Beijing. No one did. They just knew it had been the prelude. It was the first act of a gigantic bloodbath, the announcement of desperate last stands, continent-sized disasters and the end of civilisation.

Sophia had known she was going to die. Scion was far too powerful for another outcome to be possible.

Maybe she had. There had been a lot of pain, a lot of light and colours impossible to describe precisely.

And then she had woken up.

It had taken her a few seconds to understand that if this was the afterlife, she had not been chosen to go to Heaven. Dirty and smelly tunnels were the first places she saw on her arrival. In minutes, large brutes which embodied the gang-members in all its stupidity had tried to kill her – unless it was eat or rape her; these minions had not been blessed with high levels of intelligence. She had been so angry at them their deaths had not been easy ones.

A few hours and she had collected enough information to know she wasn't on Earth Bet anymore. That was the good news. The bad news was that, somehow, she had landed on the Hive World of Necromunda. It was an extremely populated place where billions of men, women and children were living in atrocious conditions. It was a world of darkness and death, because the planet had been so industrialised and exploited every drop of water outside was a poisonous slime and the air could kill every cell in your lungs in one breath.

It was a place where more people than the entire of population of Earth Bet were killed day after day by a Nazi regime calling itself the 'Imperium of Mankind'. At first, the vigilante who had once been known as Shadow Stalker had laughed at this ridiculous invention. Honestly, Kaiser had been unable to conquer and hold Brockton Bay before Leviathan killed him. How in Hell these Nazis could rule an entire planet, never mind an Empire?

Unfortunately, it appeared to be the truth. The only saving grace was the fact that these holy and mighty rulers didn't care about the skin colour of those who worked for them. Otherwise, they were good little Nazis. Brutality for brutality's sake, the skull and the bones for emblem, the 'Eternal Emperor' had replaced the 'Eternal Fuhrer' and you had to pray for the Imperium was going to last tens of thousands years. It had made angry. Many of their hulky brutes in armour had learned the hard way they could do nothing when she pushed them in gaping holes the sizes of skyscrapers.

Yes, this was the harsh reality of this world. Apparently there were millions of men dying each day having learned these lies for all their life. Not that they survived long. In these gigantic slums where the lights were weak and lit a few hours per day, being a predator or a prey was not a question of lifestyle. It was just a question of survival and it was measured in weeks. If the lack of food and water, the inter-gang warfare and the punitive raids of the 'Enforcers' didn't kill you, you could live as far as forty years old...maybe.

Sophia had not wanted to die in this hellhole and she had left these diseased slums they called 'Underhive' the moment she knew the direction to escape. Without free electricity in the abandoned quarters, her shadow abilities allowed her to go everywhere, steal in all impunity and grab enough money that when a proposition to leave the planet had presented itself, she had taken it.

Seriously, if there was someone in this Galaxy wanting to retire in the poor blocks of this miserable smog-covered planet, let him throw the first stone at her. Shadow Stalker would not die on Necromunda. She was a survivor, and she was not going to be buried among people who made the Merchants look like models of hygiene, cleverness and success. She was not going to break. Her crossbow had no more bolts, but she had been able to replace it with a sort of powerful laser gun. Her torn-apart clothes had been thrown in the compactors and she had gained new and better armour. And since it was obvious the 'Imperium' had no idea parahumans even existed, she had the advantage.

Where had everything turned wrong? Well, the idea of the ship recruiting for the settling of the new world had just been a big lie in the end. She should have been far more distrustful once she had seen the columns of tall and eager gang members trying to buy their exit ticket out of Necromunda. But it was not like there were hundreds of ships at her disposition. Necromunda had very big spaceports, but unlike the slums and the toxic hellholes it had electricity, heavily armed guards and serious security measures. So when she had discovered the _Emperor's Judgement_ , a starship called a 'special-carrack', which was leaving for better skies, she had seized the opportunity with both hands.

How could she have known the captain and his whole crew were completely crazy?

The moment she had come aboard, she had not only lost all her money, she had been thrown into a blood-soaked cage and told to fight and kill against girls her own age. That was what the first crewman to come had told her anyway once she and the first girl had been brought their first meal – a meagre piece of meat which was small for a small eater, never mind for two and a goblet of water which had a deranging odour.

"Fight. Kill. Cage," the man had said, with a truly deranging smile and an appearance of a villain from a very bad horror movie. "Kill good. Kill gives food."

Instead of trying to strangle the poor girl, Sophia had phased out of the cage, stolen the stun truncheon he had around his belt and then shattered his skull. She had been so angry that the kill had been over before her rage had the time to run.

Unfortunately, doing so must have set off a lot of alarms. She had not heard them, so maybe these persons had installed cameras or something similar to tell them there was something wrong with their prisoners. Before she had the time to free more than a handful of prisoners, a hundred or so guards had stormed the room and no matter how many times she had managed to evade them, it had not been enough. They had weapons able to pierce her Breaker shadow-state, and they had rapidly figured she could not remain in shadows eternally.

The beating they had given her afterwards had put her between life and death for...actually she didn't know how many days she was unconscious. What she was aware was that someone must have healed her, because she had very little scars or sign of injuries when she had been able to stand up.

And then the nightmare had truly started. Someone had placed an electrical collar around her neck and different pieces of technology around her legs and arms. If she tried to become a shadow, she received an awful amount of pain for her trouble. She was forced to obey, to participate in the bloody games of the ship masters. No weapon of any kind were authorised and the rules were simple: kill or be killed. These guys were mad and her anger this time had no escape. There had been thousands of gangers in the gigantic hold. Thousands of cages were the scenes of thousands of fight-to-the-death and there was no mercy of treatment of favouritism. In the light or the darkness, they were forced to kill if they wanted to have food, water and one more day to live before death came for them. It was not a predator's life; it was those of a monster caged by bigger monsters. And there was no way to stop it. Hours, days, months...it was impossible to say how much time they stayed alternating between rest and furious cage battles, bleeding and screaming. In the end, her anger had faded away fight after fight. Predator superiority was good, but there was so much blood and murder in these fights that it wasn't leaving her satisfied.

Today was different.

Sophia had woken up in a comfortable bed with white sheets, a weird sensation when nine times out of ten she and the rest of the Necromunda fighters had slept on the ground. There was no cage fight, no violence and no insults. They were examined by doctors and nurses, or at least by medical personnel in white and red clothes. The countless scars and injuries which had slashed her skin were gone like by magic. For the first time in an eternity, Sophia felt great. Miracle of all miracle, they had the right to take a hot shower and were given clothes to their size, a black uniform devoid of decorations and black boots.

Once they were all ready, one of the doctors placed a new collar around her neck. Obviously, the starship authorities didn't trust her enough not to escape. Shadow Stalker might have felt a bit vexed, if she had not had planned for an evasion the moment the first attempt had failed.

But without her parahuman powers, the chances of escaping the armoured figures patrolling every corridor were close to zero. Like the other survivors, she had to wait. Assuming they were all she could see, it had been a massacre with survival chances smaller than most Endbringer fights. Thousands men and women of all age had paid at Necromunda to leave the planet: there were only twenty-six survivors now and she was the only girl. The twenty-five others were all far taller and bigger than her, and now that their wounds were bad memories she knew she wouldn't last long if her shadow transformation was unavailable.

A masked figure covered from head to toe in black came in front of them, accompanied by the captain in person. For once, the man wasn't giving his sadistic smiles like when he came to see the cage fights and was acting like a love-sick puppy. But Sophia saw his eyes and in the green pupils there was a deep fear. For all his talks about killing, this man was just a rat.

"Twenty-sixth survivors," said the stranger in a loud and nasal tone. "It is better than your previous travels assuredly."

"Thank you, Honoured Adept."

The black figure took the sort of portable computer an officer handed him and read some information on it. Despite the fact she could not see his visage, Sophia could somehow guess this newcomer was pleased.

"Yes, you have done well." He pointed a black finger in her direction and uttered a single word.

"Callidus."

Then the hand moved to the boy left to her. "Eversor," the man said. He repeated it twenty-four times. Sometimes, he consulted a long time his device, often it was a short and immediate answer. "Lead them to the transports," the order came once these short and mysterious words had been spoken.

Escorted by fifty-something guards in threatening armours, there was nothing to do but obey. Despite the 'Callidus' and 'Eversor' judgement, they were put in the same big shuttle, their hands and their feet were bound to various metallic contraptions. Surprisingly, the guards didn't stay aboard and once they were all harnessed, they left the transport. The great hatch closed in a complete silence, a sinister sound compared to the racket of the doors aboard the _Emperor's Judgement_.

There was no window or screen to inform them where they were. For all she knew, they were going back to Necromunda though she somewhat doubted the pigs of this starship had organised this slaughter just to go back at their departure point.

The only thing Shadow Stalker could guess was that they were entering the atmosphere of a planet. Despite having only felt it once on Necromunda, the sensation was impossible to forget. After what looked like several hours of hard accelerations and decelerations, their transport stopped moving. The hatch opened, and the weird human-cyborgs the Imperium called 'servitors' came into view. Soundlessly, their bounds were removed and they walked off the hold.

To her disappointment, there wasn't any clue where they had been landed once they left the shuttle. The location looked like a bland place, with no markings or any other signs proclaiming who owned the place and which planet they had arrived. A few big screens were present, but the only message on them was to 'follow the servitors' in this butchered version of English they called 'Low Gothic'.

The twenty-five brutes and she were not the only ones in this grey-brown terminal. There were many shuttles arriving and departing, disgorging hundreds, no thousands of hulky and bodybuilder-types. This was not good for her. Yes, she was athletic; between being part of the track and field team plus her time as a vigilante and then a hero she had had plenty of times to build muscles. But she was a runner, not one of those mountain of muscles which debarked by whole columns. They were also taller than her. Sophia had been one of the tallest girls at Winslow, nearly as tall as Hebert but the teenagers and men marching in neat lines alongside her were between 1m80 and 2m10. A lot were tending towards the latter, to be truthful.

At one point, the servitor in front of her turned right while the rest of the groups continued ahead. Had there been someone intelligent close, she would have had some questions but trying to talk to a servitor was a waste of time. They passed by a series of doors and lifts, before arriving to a large alley decorated by the usual skulls. There was something different however this time. The human skull was superposed with a sort of four-point cross and a sword. At the end of the avenue was a balcony. There were two large black seats, with no bindings, chains or other objects to show it was for prisoners. After two seconds of hesitation and seeing the servitor to the side was not going to provide instructions, Sophia sat in the right. Instantly, it was like the seat adapted to her body in order to provide the maximum of comfort.

After savouring the feeling when she was confident she was not going to be bitten, stabbed or destroyed, she watched the procession under eyes.

The balcony was overhanging a large and dark hall. The emblem of the skull-cross-sword was painted white and six meters-tall on the opposite wall. There were no other signs of decoration, no furniture. There was a rather large balcony to her left, although this one was far lower positioned and there was a sort of console for someone to speak.

As for the hall itself, it was filling slowly but surely. The dark space between the gloomy walls was extensive, there was enough ground here to play a professional football game, but there were more and more people entering in neat columns. The noise of footsteps and breathing was all that was to be heard. There was no whisper, grumble or low voice. Once more, the female parahuman was disquieted by how few women were in this assembly. For that matter, even the ones she could see looked more like muscular men who had somehow acquired breasts than women. Shadow Stalker counted a column and then multiplied it by the sixty-plus lines fixing in front of the main balcony. The rapid mental calculus gave her somewhere around seven thousand people. It was incredibly frightening if her own experience was any judge. Thousands had died aboard the Emperor's Judgement only for twenty-six to leave it alive. If they had all surmounted the same massacres and cage fights, the numbers of deaths had to be absolutely insane.

A few more minutes and there were no more arrivals. The four doors which had allowed the crowd to enter were closed in a long ceremonial procession. On the main balcony, several black-hooded figures brought a sort of great metallic coffin they placed in a vertical position. Idly, the Earth bet vigilante wondered if their hosts had invited Dracula.

As the object opened and gasps echoed in the hall, she wondered if a vampire would not have been a preferable choice.

The thing in the coffin was an inhuman horror. Plunged in a shimmering blue liquid, a skulled-face was grinning at them. At first sight it seemed impossible this thing was human. The details of its body showed grotesquely inflated muscles, ones even the super-muscled athletes never managed to achieve.

What was there to describe? The creature was covered in a black cloth hiding nothing of its muscles and mutations. It was covered in weapons which were scary just by looking at them. A large claw, many guns, swords, spikes and syringes were visible and given the distance, Sophia was fairly sure there were more to see...not that she intended to get closer, oh no.

The servitors and the rest of the figures in the balcony connected several cables and devices and suddenly a powerful voice boomed out of nowhere, silencing the whispers and the little conversations which had started.

"Welcome to Holy Terra, assassins," there was eagerness in this monstrous voice and a look directly at the coffin-lie support unit showed her bright red lights had appeared where eyes were supposed to be. "Welcome to the Officio Assassinorum."

There were some screams and accusations uttered but the speaker ignored them all.

"Yes, we exist. Yes, we are not a rumour spread by the High Lords of Terra to keep the Governors and their corrupt families in line. Yes, we are the assassins of His Holy Majesty, charged by Him to hunt down his enemies and erase them from existence. For those that defy the Imperium, only the Emperor can judge your crimes. And only in death can you receive the Emperor's Judgement."

Instantly, the name of the ship which had brought her here made suddenly a lot more sense. On the other side of the transparent barrier, the thing opened its mouth in what could have been a grin if it had not been on such a monstrous corpse-like visage.

"I am NC-UT2997, Master of the Eversor Clade and if you are in my presence today, it is because you have successfully passed the preliminaries to become in time true Imperial Assassins. I would gladly leave this vat to congratulate you...but it would be the last thing you would see in your life."

Hundreds of men shivered at this ruthless and inhuman voice. Inside, Sophia knew fear too. This was not a predator, it was just a monster.

"An Eversor Assassin is the ultimate force of the Imperium!" The voice half-shouted and the bloodlust could not be missed in these words. "We are not the impeccable marksmen of the Vindicare, the anti-psyker terrors of the Culexus or the disguise mistresses of the Callidus! An Eversor Assassin will not trick his enemies into destroying themselves, poison water tanks or convince the target to commit suicide!"

The expression on the monster skulled-face grew more deranging per the second.

"No, aspirants. An Eversor is a killing machine and our only goal is to kill everyone. Mutant, xenos, heretic, spies and traitors; if they are between an Eversor and his target, they must die and their agony screams will be heard by the God-Emperor Himself!"

There were many in the public who applauded at this announcement. Then again, there were as many who stayed silent and continued to fix emotionlessly the being floating in the blue solution. By Scion, if this thing was a human, what had they done to him? The survivors in the hall may be murderers and survivors, they were all big and threatening, but none of them looked like abominable freaks...

"But you are too numerous." The clapping and the smiles died instantly. "Eversor masters and trainers are far from unlimited and the Clade has no intention to use sub-par material for its next generation of Assassins. We need fifty candidates." The horrible head moved slightly and the voice became a low rumble but everyone head it nonetheless. "The worthy will win their place, the others will die."

For an instant or two none of the Eversor 'volunteer aspirants' moved. Then one mountain of muscles in the second column from the right strangled the boy in front of him and everything after that was chaos. Men and women fought each other with their bare fists, teeth and sometimes small weapons they had managed to hide in their mouths or another place. People bashed the skulls of their enemies against the walls. Death by strangulation was happening a hundred times. Battles of every size and with two to a hundred participants raged. Battle-cries of a thousand planets were screamed before the fighters plunged again in the melee.

And next to her ear, Sophia heard a chuckle.

"The Eversor selection is really something, isn't it?"

The parahuman teenage girl turned her head fast. She could have sworn seconds ago that the other seat was unoccupied, but no more. There was now a woman in a sort of back skin-tight costume watching her and she instantly recognised the posture of a predator. Her hairs were combed in a long blonde braid arriving to her lips. Like the Eversor in his coffin, there were red lenses over her eyes or something fulfilling the same function. The Assassin had quantities of weapons on her like a large gun on her back, a spiked gauntlet coursing with green energy and several explosives tightened to her belt. Between her breasts, there was a variation of the first emblem, a skull divided between black and white on a four-pointed cross.

This woman was mortally dangerous, of that there was no doubt.

"This is why they aren't recruiting many girls." Sophia didn't make it a question and the absence of answer proved she had guessed right.

"The skills the Officio expects from an Eversor are not hard to find on any world of the Imperium," perhaps it was her imagination but Shadow Stalker believed there was a hint of mockery in the woman's voice. "Their selection methods are taking this into account."

For several minutes, they watched the massacre unfolding. Hundreds had already fallen, but the butchery was continuing nonetheless. There was nothing subtle or predatory in the young men still crawling or running to kill more of their challengers. They were covered in gore and existed solely to kill...in their behaviour they were already barbaric Assassins. Sophia knew she should felt anger or hate at this treatment, but instead she just felt...numb. Killing and the shedding of blood was not making her heart pump harder now.

She heard a series of clicks and suddenly the electrical collar which had been a silent menace around her neck fell to the ground. Obviously, Sophia's attention directly returned to the female Assassin.

"You have potential, Sophia Hess." The tone employed by the woman was giving her the impression of a big feline...minus the purring. The black substance covering the skin touched her hand...it was somewhat cold and soft, but underneath she could feel the steel grip. "The captain of the _Emperor's Judgement_ was so impressed by your skills he ordered his Astropath to contact us directly..."

The former hero chose to stay mouth closed. This woman was giving her the same vibes Alexandria of the Triumvirate did before Hebert killed her with her swarm. It was the feeling your interlocutor could end you like a bug...it was not a pleasurable sensation.

In the distance, the ruckus caused by the battle was getting louder.

"I am Xanaria Lythis, Clade-Primaris of the Callidus Temple. I'm searching for an apprentice. Interested?"

* * *

 **Author's note** : this is the end of the Peril arc. Needless to say, a lot of decisions made right now will have lasting consequences for this poor galaxy. The Weaver Option will continue after the other stories have had their time, and we will see what Taylor and her growing circle of allies and subordinates have been up to in the weeks after the victory of Wuhan.

More links for support or if you want to comment on the Weaver Option:

P a treon: ww w. p a treon Antony444

Alternate History page: www .alternatehistory forum/ threads/ the-weaver-option-a-warhammer-40000-crossover.395904/

If someone wants to create a TV Trope page, fell free to do so!


	15. Sentinel 3-1 A Short Detour

**Sentinel 3.1**

 **A Short Detour**

 _I can say without lying I've lost count of the number of times people have asked me why I hate so much the Eldars._

 _I hear their whispers, behind my back. Perhaps I am angry I found a xenos species which makes my blue-blooded arrogance small and unimpressive. There are also hints I tried to spare an Eldar during my first battle with the Fay 20_ _th_ _and the same xenos humiliated me afterwards. Another motive which arrived to my ears was that my infamous commanding officer psycho-indoctrinated every member of her staff to hate one xenos species specifically. I –supposedly – was the one chosen to hate the Eldars._

 _In the end, these rumours are just that: rumours._

 _I do not hate Eldars because I want to twist and cut their Warp-forsaken long ears. Not that the temptation isn't great. I do not curse them because they have fielded on thousands of occasions technological devices which are more akin to sorcery. Lasguns, shells and bayonets may be underwhelming from a certain point of view, but I can say safely thousands of this perfidious species have lost their lives to them._

 _No, I hate them because they are hypocrites to a point challenging the very concept of imagination. Humans are not perfect, but our claims are often backed by something like reality. Eldars have not that problem. All in one, the long ears love to pretend they are at the apex of the predator chain, they are the most technologically advanced species in this galaxy, they are the rampart against Chaos and they are so wise every one must bow to their supreme greatness._

 _It's infuriating how much stupidity these arrogant xenos can voice. One might think that annihilating their very own empire and ravaging the Galaxy by sheer decadence would have taught them a thing or two like moderation, tolerance and self-introspection._

 _After all, even the orks, amusing war-lovers idiots, can sometimes learn of their errors._

 _Unfortunately, on this very subject like on thousands of others, Eldars have proved themselves inferior to the greenskins._

 _The Ork leaders may not be geniuses, but they understood faster than the Farseers attacking the Fay 20_ _th_ _in anything but overwhelming strength was going to result in disaster..._

Extract from _Memories of the Fay 20_ _th_ _and the 35_ _th_ _Millennium_ , by Wei Cao.

" _The Eldar are a capricious and fickle xenos race, attacking without cause or warning. There is no understanding them for there is nothing to understand – they are a random force in the universe_." Extract from a common Imperial Guard speech often evoked by the Commissars before fighting the Eldar.

* * *

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Moros Sub-Sector**

 **Wuhan System**

 **Wuhan II**

 **7.423.289M35**

Thought for the Day: Information is power.

 **Sergeant Gavreel Forcas**

The Primarch Perturabo was a traitor and a mass-murdering monster. That much could not be contested. On the other hand, the writings and directives he had given to his Legion of corpse-grinders had been short and to the point.

According to him, a Training Sergeant had to be cruel, merciless and be granted a despotic power bordering on absolute tyranny to make sure his recruits were worthy to be considered real soldiers.

But it was Perturabo and the Primarch of the Fourth had forgotten something as usual.

Taking the title of Training Sergeant was _fun_.

"FASTER, BAND OF LARVAE! THIS IS TOO SLOW! A ONE-LEGGED MAN NEEDS TEN SECONDS LESS THAN YOUR MISERABLE SKULLS TO COMPLETE THIS OBSTACLE COURSE!"

It went without saying it was fun for him, not for those he was training. He had the opportunity to scream and lambast these whiteshields for all the mistakes they made – and they were a lot of them, by the ashes of Caliban.

"YOU CALL THIS A PUSH-UP? YOU WILL DO IT CORRECTLY! WHAT WAS THAT, A PROTESTATION? I WANT ONE HUNDRED MORE AND I WANT A BIG HAPPY SMILE ON YOUR UGLY FACE!"

Gavreel was nearly certain the hundred or so of young men and women running between the different obstacles and physical exercises were cursing his name and his ancestry for all eternity. But it was for their own good!

His transhuman eyes examined the rest of the training field he had requisitioned for the next three hours. For the moment, it served his purposes though it was by no means perfect. For one, this amount of space was the sole place where the three Imperial Guard regiments could train. Contrary to one might think, they weren't on Wuhan soil, this was just the walls simulating a wasteland and the ceiling simulating a smog-covered sky. He and the rest of these recruits were aboard a purposed-built army transport named the _Courageous Traveller_ , orbiting the Hive World.

The facilities were far inferior to the facilities the Solar Auxilia had taken for granted during the Great Crusade, but they did the job. Gavreel had been forced to swallow it like everything else, though the technological decline the Imperium suffered worried him immensely.

"YOU CALL THIS SHOOTING?" He screamed to a dozen of recruits which had to strip, assemble and shoot a lasgun before resuming the obstacle course. "I SAW BABIES TAKING FIVE MINUTES TO DO IT! FIVE NOT FIFTEEN! AND YOUR SHOOTING SKILLS ARE A DISGRACE TO YOUR FAMILIES! I'M BEGINNING TO THINK I WILL NEED TO USE THE WORST SHOOTERS AS TARGETS TO IMPROVE YOUR SCORES!"

The effect would have been even better if he was in his power armour. Towering like a big black shadow over them would have encouraged the most recalcitrant trainees to improve. But the Tech-Priests were working on his new Aquila equipment at the moment, and so he had to use a long black uniform specially tailored for him a few more days.

Still, the effect of being trained by a Space Marine was doing wonders for morale inside the _Courageous Traveller_. Simply by being who he was, Gavreel could draw on from a succession of countless victories from the Great Crusade and thousands of victories won by the Emperor's finest. It was somewhat humbling, to be honest.

There were a few bad seeds in this lot, nevertheless. It was bound to happen; no regiment was ever free of this particular problem. They thought themselves intelligent and clever, but they underestimated his senses. These enemies of discipline and order did not take the training seriously. Gavreel could not wait to tell them the average time of survival on the frontlines was around nineteen hours. But for the guardsmen who screwed up and angered their supervisors, it should be somewhere between nineteen seconds and nineteen minutes, depending on the level of the opposition.

Pointing his right fist to one of the worst troublemakers he had noticed, he shouted a new tirade.

"YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY? TEN MORE LAPS AND I WANT THEM DONE YESTERDAY!"

The arrogant brat raced to obey. At the very least, the troublemakers were not stupid enough to disobey him. He would have to keep one eye on them nonetheless.

The light sound of human footsteps from the training field entrance informed him well before he turned his head that Major Taylor Hebert had arrived. Wearing the basic black-grey uniform of her Guard regiment, the young woman he owned his life was grinning at the spectacle of exhausted trainees training desperately not to attract his attention.

"You appear to have the situation well in hand," the bug-controller was looking far better these days. While he had not personally taken part in the creation of her schedule, the former Dark Angels Legionary knew Questor Wismer and her own staff had been concerned the Major was way too thin. She also loved to overwork herself, and several rest periods had to be established.

Because Taylor Hebert was unfortunately mentally and physically able to impose herself a blade lesson with him after an entire day of work. Gavreel had been more than once forced to salute her determination to improve herself – if girls could become Astartes, he would have recommended her immediately for the Astartes transformation procedure – but sometimes it was too much. A reminder like many others a parahuman was like a psyker on certain aspects.

"The training is proceeding a bit better than the planning I gave you a Terran month ago," he said in a low tone. It wouldn't do for the trainees to think they were becoming good little soldiers before they were ready, by the Sword of the Lion. "I think in three weeks your 4th Company will be ready to fight next to the other veterans."

"Good," the satisfaction in Weaver's voice was evident. "We leave Wuhan in two days and I prefer to have a well-trained force to deploy when we need to shoot something."

His eyes met the ones of Taylor Hebert, and he knew the 'when' had not been chosen by mistake. The Major was expecting trouble...and given they were all under the supreme authority of a Magos Explorator, he was not going to tell her she was wrong.

"Are they problems I should be aware of?"

"As a matter of fact there is one," Gavreel knew he was going to touch something which was technically not included in his duties, but better saying it now than mourning how unfair the galaxy was when you agonised on a bloody trench. "I came a bit earlier to the training field this morning and I saw the 'exercises' of the Wuhan Infantry 23rd. They are...not good."

By respect, the Sergeant had not uttered any insult but he could not say anything positive about the display he had watched. By the Major's grimace, he saw his remark was not completely unexpected.

"You were aware of it."

"Let's just say I had my suspicions and I sent Valeriya from my staff to spy a bit on them," she corrected him. "Magos Lankovar told me they falsified a lot their numbers..."

"And you don't trust them." He didn't blame her.

Taylor Hebert shrugged.

"The Guard exists to protect the citizens of the Imperium and the moment they had the opportunity to do the right thing, they refused to fight and protect their home planet."

But the two other Guard regiments, the Andes Artillery 10th and of course the Fay Mechanised Infantry 20th, had fought and bled for the Wuhanese population.

"I can understand their fear of the Inquisition, but it was their people who were dying and they chose to do nothing," the insect mistress continued. "I can't say I will enjoy fighting sides by sides with officers like them...eleven thousand more men would have been really useful in Hive Asao."

Tactically, this was indeed true. The Fay Regiment was now five thousand and three hundred strong while the Andes force had four thousand men and women to fire their artillery batteries.

"They are also regular clashes between their troopers and the other regiments in the corridors."

"We are working on it, but they're no obvious solution." There was no smile on the bug-controller young visage and she was nearly gritting her teeth. "Colonel Ricardo and his officers have the same problem. The truth is Colonel Ta is a misogynist pig and the Wuhan Infantry 23rd is an all-male regiment. They don't want women giving them orders and many of their officers think any woman firing weapons is some kind of provocation."

"This is going to be problematic." Although nowhere near the bad blood existing between the Fourth and the Seventh. He had not been shocked to learn these two Legions had fought on opposite sides during the Great heresy.

"They are an infantry regiment and a big one; they can afford to take losses we can't." Major Hebert said before changing the subject. "How fares the latest addition to my staff?"

* * *

 **Corporal Wei Cao**

Wei had known from the moment she was able to walk she was of the purest most prestigious line of Wuhan. She was a daughter of House Cao. She was born to rule and command. Her destiny was to oversee the productivity of the lesser classes and make sure all tithes the Imperium demanded of the Hive World were met in time and hour. She had received the most expensive tutors and received beautiful dresses to participate in great ceremonies.

Wei was a noblewoman of Wuhan. Her father had been granted many influent positions in Wuhan governance and her planet was the sub-sector capital. Her future in the circles frequented by Wuhan elite was assured from the moment she was born.

And then two traitors – the Adeptus Arbites was still investigating if they had been real Inquisitors or not – had decimated Wuhan nobility and everything had gone downhill there.

Suddenly, Wei was not the second daughter of the Praetor-Maximus Hongfeng Cao, fifth in line of succession to the title of Ruler of Hive Cao-Lai. No, she was the daughter of Governor Hongfeng Cao of Wuhan...and her two eldest half-brothers and eldest half-sister had begun watching her like she had suddenly become their mortal enemy. Tragic accidents and accidents had come closer day after day and two younger half-sisters had officially taken their own lives – like anything more intelligent save a servitor was going to believe that.

It had been urgent to find an escape exit, but she was a noblewoman and in her veins flew the purest bloodline of Wuhan. Wei had been sure that should a challenge present herself in front of her, she could handle it easily.

After a few queries, Wei Cao had rapidly determined it was the marriage with a hero of the Imperial Guard which offered the best opportunity to build her own power base and one day return to seize the Governorship from her father cold hands.

It had partially failed and the assassins had begun to act openly in front of hundred witnesses. Leaving Wuhan had been more and more a necessity for her continued survival.

It had taken her only a few hours to realise that all her family name and all the influence at her disposal were not going to give her a regimental command or any prestigious position she was aware of. No, she had been granted the grade of Corporal and she had a good idea it was because of her mastery of High and Low Gothic.

"FASTER, BAND OF LARVAE! THIS IS TOO SLOW! A ONE-LEGGED MAN NEEDS TEN SECONDS LESS THAN YOUR MISERABLE SKULLS TO COMPLETE THIS OBSTACLE COURSE!"

She jumped from the top of the three meters-high climbing wall...directly in the brown foam the Mechanicus had placed to simulate mud and other viscous things. The sensation was disgusting and doing it nearly every day had not made it more pleasant.

She did not shout or protest, despite the fact that she wanted a long and hot shower in a porcelain-decorated bathroom. Wei knew she wasn't going to get it now. Instead she ran and managed to last long enough to finish the course, out of breath.

"Twenty seconds better than your previous time Corporal," the declaration came from the Sergeant of the 2nd Company overseeing the chronometric displays. She was a very large woman, with her tattooed arms the width of her legs. "You've done enough for today. Get a shower and go back to your staff duties, there are other trainees waiting for their turn."

"Yes, Sergeant," Wei saluted before obeying. On the first day, she had tried protesting and collapsed totally exhausted before the end of the obstacle course. This had been the sole and only time she did it. Sergeants might not look it, but they knew how much she could handle before being wiped out physically and mentally.

The shower was far too short to her taste. Water was far from rationed on the _Courageous Traveller_ – she knew from the logistical requirements they were going to be resupplied in a few hours before their departure – but it did not mean the regulations for the showers were anything but plebeian.

Just for this, she wanted to be a senior officer and enjoy her private bathroom once more...before remembering all the women including the Major and the Captains were using these showers. She could not say she was a noblewoman and not imitate them when it was a question of noblesse oblige, no?

The clean grey-black uniform was donned in seconds and the boots came after. Wei took a few seconds to watch herself in the old mirror of the locker room. Her hair had been cut short and she tied them up in a short ponytail. The azure shade mixed with the black was still visible, but since she could not bring her stylist with her it was fading away. In ten days, her fabulous hairs were going to return to their natural obsidian colour.

Wei was even less satisfied with the uniform, her nails and the rest of her visage. The harsh training she had been forced to endure with the rest of the recruits arrived from Fay had ruined a decade of intensive cosmetic and dressing sessions. And yet...there was no denying there was a certain pleasure in her appearance. For the first time, Wei watched herself and knew there was something dangerous in her. The belt she tied around her waist had a laspistol holster and it was not empty. On her left side, she had the standard Guard-produced long knife to defend herself at close-quarters. Wei had lost rapidly several kilograms. She had muscles. Her grip felt stronger. And it was just two standard months of training...she had a feeling that in one year the girl she was last year would be unable to recognise her future-self.

This might not be a bad thing. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she had survived the ball by random luck. Her half-siblings had just been too busy plotting against each other to care about the delegation of the Imperial Guard. There had been the battle of poisoned cream after one hour, the violin assassination six minutes past this mark and two dozen honour duels to spice the end of the night.

The feeling of vulnerability was not a pleasant thing, and each day in the Guard she was more than aware that the real killers of this Sector could end her life in mere seconds without any effort.

Admiring herself in the mirror had to be stopped there, however. Soon somebody was going to need the room, and the paperwork was not going to disappear by itself.

Ten minutes later, her prediction was more than verified. There was only one member of the 'Weaver's staff' when she entered the room: Alex Dev, a young blonde-haired young man. He looked like he was swimming under the piles of files – a bit of an exaggeration but not that much. The office had been devoted to deal with all the documentation an Imperial Regiment of His Most Divine Majesty needed a month a half ago, but it was too small for their purposes.

Likely, they would need to find new places of work and storage before the secret and not-so secret documents before it spiralled in the grey corridors of the ship.

"What are the reasons of this mess?" She asked a bit frostily. "We completed this morning the spare parts problems. If this is the Cartel agents causing more difficulties, I swear heads are going to roll."

Before she would have made it an idle threat, but since they were leaving the system and her influence might not survive her unofficial exile, the temptation was strong to remove the insipid worms unable to do their jobs.

"The fuel," the two words were uttered like a curse. "The authorities on the planet are dragging their feet now that we are really a Mechanised Infantry Regiment. The Wuhan scribes did not protest when the Governor offered us the vehicles, because it was the Governor and they love having their heads attached to their body."

"But they don't want to deliver the promethium."

"Not at the prices they are forced to sell their promethium stocks to a Guard regiment."

Wei winced. The 'gift' had been her idea after all, and she had really dismissed firsthand the issue of fuel, because it wasn't like there was a scarcity of it in the Wuhan System.

"Is it that bad?"

"No, it's not," answered the Fay Guardsmen. "But if they manage to delay us by a few more days, the regiment will need to borrow fuel from the Andes 10th or buy it somewhere else. And there are not many planets in the Sector having so much promethium available."

"I will contact the administrators to remind them how much the Wuhan-Cao Cartel has invested in recently." Wei was not qualified in any way to drive a Chimera or discuss the tactics of a mechanised infantry regiment. But she was aware vehicles without promethium were like a Hive without raw resources to transform into finished products. It was an impressive construction yes, but the utility to the God-Emperor and the Imperium of Mankind was nil. "There are always administrators which need to be reminded of their place. Is the rest of the data-slates and paper coming from the same sources?"

"No, part of it is the obscure laws we somehow broke when we assaulted Hive Asao. The Governor and the Lord Magnates wrote a general amnesty for those, but there are always more factory owners and dumb scribblers who have not got the message."

"And the rest?" Wei demanded, looking at a differently ordered stack of files awaiting reading.

"Oh, these are the demands linked to the Major's pet project." She must have raised an eyebrow in interest because Alex Dev launched himself in a long explanation. "Major Hebert gave some of the funds she was awarded on Fay to build orphanages for the children whose parents died in the orks invasion. She didn't like the model of the Schola Progenium, I believe. The goal is for these kids to have a roof to sleep under, be correctly fed and have as normal of a childhood as possible. There were talks between her and Governor Dalten to make sure apprenticeships and qualified work was opened to them...according to the data we received one month ago, the first orphanage had opened and the concept is getting popular."

"Interesting," Wei commented before beginning to read a long and boring document where nothing important was written in incredibly tiny letters. She had never thought about charity efforts to build herself a nice reputation, but Taylor Hebert had obviously not been blind to the opportunities it offered. "Please give me an update once you're done with it, I would like to give suggestions of my own..."

Ultimately, she had not manage to invite herself in the bed of her superior, but it did not mean there were no other ways to make yourself valuable.

* * *

 **Magos Desmerius Lankovar**

A very young and credulous menial named Desmerius Lankovar had once believed that the Adeptus Mechanicus of Blessed Mars was not the Administratum of Holy Terra. Surely the great Fabricator General and the Archmagos Primus of the Red Planet had found in their millennia of studies and researches the solution to the dread human curse named paperwork.

Magos Explorator Desmerius Lankovar, centuries older and made far wiser by the hundreds of experiences where he had nearly lost his life, was aware this miraculous salvation had not yet been provided by the servants of the Omnissiah. To be sure, unlike the miserable Curators and Scribes of the Administratum, the Tech-Priests had powerful bionic implants to deal with the massive flux of information. The knowledge and the messages they required were easily accessible by the noosphere provided they had the correct authorisations and passwords. Management, regulations, doctrine and requisition demands were dealt with in the holy binary language, the langua-technis, as it was proper.

Yes, it was a language optimised for quick communication of technical data. It was something they said to the young Tech-Priests who did not know better. But there was always indexed documentation to provide, productivity reports to send, and after-action data to compile. Desmerius was well-aware he and his fellow Magos of Wuhan did not generate more than eleven percent of the bureaucratic maze the Administratum created on the Hive World.

But it was still a colossal flux of information, and as a Magos Explorator he had been many standard years out of contact. The moment some of his peers knew where to find him – and he had stayed at Wuhan one hundred and sixty percent the time necessary for contact to be established – the requests had come like an ork running to battle: eagerly and leaving him no respite.

No simulation showed him a way to cut short these hundreds of thousands irritating details. The _Magos Laurentis_ had participated in enough skirmishes and battles during his Quest for Knowledge that the overhaul in Wuhan dockyards was one hundred percent necessary. Two standard months of reparations and resupply would not erase every technical problem, but there was a probability of twenty-ninth percent he would be able to operate his cruiser for the rest of the century.

Omnissiah willing, Stygies VIII would receive his report and deliver him the funds and the necessary codes before this future date.

But until this eventual recognition of the risks and efforts he had taken in the name of Blessed Mars, Lankovar was on his own to negotiate and advance the interests of his Forge-World of birth. He had a small squadron answering his precise directives, which increased by a factor of twelve the technical documentation generated by the Tech-Priests under his command.

It had severely cut back the number of cogitator cycles he could affect to anything which wasn't maintenance and resupply. Wismer faced the same problems. It was one of the reasons he couldn't wait but depart Wuhan.

Idly, the Magos Explorator calculated the probability of his former superior Archmagos Dorville adopting the same attitude. The result shown on one of his lateral screens was 0,004 percent. Desmerius was anything but surprised. The ancient Archmagos of Venatoria had had very little patience for anything which was not a STC or a bomb. If the Omnissiah was good, his expeditionary fleet was not anywhere in a thousand light-years radius.

He was studying the last status report sent by the Wuhan destroyer _Star Lizard_ which had been loaned to his expeditionary squadron when the thrill of a highly encrypted demand of communication interrupted him.

The channel used and the familiar encryption told him who was trying to contact him several processor cycles before the image of a familiar red robe appeared on his main display.

"Magos Suvrex-Gamma, may your forges productivity continue to rise," Desmerius saluted the highest-ranking representative of the Mechanicus on Wuhan.

"Magos Explorator Desmerius Lankovar, may your Quest for Knowledge illuminate the Great Cog," his interlocutor returned the salute before revealing the reason of his call. "You intend to travel to the S-4697X5T4 System in two standard days."

"I am." His travel plans across the Nyx Sector were not under a veil of secret. "There are several ruins and animal species I wanted to study during my last visit and I have now the means to do so." His augmented eyes watched the image of the other Magos. "The Administratum is causing problems?"

"The usual protestations," the noise emitted by Wuhan Magos was almost worth a shrug. "But until one of their colonisation fleets manage to settle and claim the planets, none that can't be ignored."

A mechadendrite pushed several runic commands and the image of a fortress built on a M31-pattern flashed into existence.

"I have received a priority communication from Andes. Magos Artisan Troy Alpha-Karon-1462 affirms in an Astropath message having made an Alpha-level discovery."

Desmerius tried not to show his wrath at hearing that name. Just as he had thought of his past moments ago, now the present was forcing him to acknowledge the disaster which had almost ended his career.

" _Magos_ ," he uttered the word like an insult, "Troy Alpha-Karon-1462 was accused of unsanctioned innovation, heretek behaviour and mass-murder of the Omnissiah servants. Cog and oil damn him, an entire stellar system was destroyed in a supernova because of his actions!"

The fault could be shared with Archmagos Dorville, yes. The great Archmagos should have verified the works of Troy. But it was the Magos Artisan who had built his cursed device and if the _Magos Laurentis_ had not had its Warp engines hot and ready to jump, neither Lankovar nor anyone in the Naga System would have survived.

"Magos Artisan Troy Alpha-Karon-1462 was sent in exile to the Feral World of Andes Primus," countered Suvrex-Gamma.

"May his components rust until the stars grow cold," Lankovar murmured. The Archmagos had obviously used some of his impressive connections and favours to avoid his favourite a traitor's death. In two seconds, he absorbed the totality of the knowledge available on Andes Primus. It was a swamp world with one minor fortress and an even smaller spaceport. Nothing of value to discover and the insects there were pathetic for Major Hebert's arsenal. Andes Primus was nothing but one of those millions of Solutio-Quintus systems in the galaxy: humanity could live on these planets but Civilised or Hive development was too costly and never started. Xenos and hostile powers never attacked these systems, since there was nothing to steal or gain from a raid there. "The probability of him making an Alpha-level discovery is below one percent. The Magos Artisan wants his exile to end and is overestimating his contributions to the Adeptus."

"And what if the discovery is real?"

"The chances of this are negligible."

The mechadendrites of Suvrex-Gamma clicked and buzzed.

"The Mechanicus of Wuhan has concluded the potential rewards of sending a messenger to Andes outweigh the drawbacks. The planet is your path to the S-4697X5T4 System. It is not a great detour."

"Agreed," Lankovar replied. Saying anything else would invite accusations and generated bad relationships with the tech-Priests of Wuhan. "But the detour will bring nothing valuable, record my words."

"Long Live the Quest for Knowledge."

"Ave Deus Mechanicus."

* * *

 **Major Taylor Hebert**

Projected like this, the planet of Andes Primus did not look so bad. The image on their hololith was a ball of green, blue and white, making the planet very similar to the rare images taken from orbit of Earth Bet before the Simurgh decided to stop humanity attempts to expand in the Solar System.

The rapid text accompanying the information was giving a far more pessimistic view of Andes Primus. A lot of the data stream was concerning details way over her head, but the humidity rates and the average temperatures were rather...uncomfortable. Thirty-two degrees Celsius might not seem too terrible, but it was an average. When you added the gravity of 1.2G, the humidity levels never going below eighty percent and the swamp-like terrain, it was somewhat understandable humanity had decided they were far more welcoming planets to colonise.

Yeah, it was not place where Taylor would recommend spending holidays. She would be fine – the illnesses and other infections were due to a sort of fist-sized insect name the glutton-mosquito – but it did not mean walking in this green treacle filled her with enthusiasm.

Apparently even the orks avoided the place and if that wasn't saying something, nothing would. The planet was the very definition of what the Imperium considered a backwater and if there wasn't the Mining World of Andes Secundus next to it, it was likely the world would have been forgotten long ago.

"The world is lightly populated," she remarked. The image of Magos Lankovar, communicating them from his cruiser's bridge, nodded in agreement.

On the corner of the hololith room occupied by the Andes officers, Colonel Ricardo spoke.

"According to the latest Imperial census five years ago, the population numbers is under twenty million and consists roughly of nomadic tribes. There are two settlements big enough to deserve the term 'towns' but they're hardly permanent: they have been destroyed several times in the last decade and rebuilt on different locations."

"Andes Primus is not Andes Secundus," added a Captain with a skin so tanned it was almost dark. "There are no mineral resources to exploit, the asteroid belt of our system is further away from it and there is no way this planet can be made an Agri-World or any Civilised World without expending hundreds of trillions Throne Gelts."

"I suppose," said Colonel Larkine, outwardly telling what everyone was thinking inside their heads, "the real question is why should we go there, Magos?"

Her commanding officer enumerated the diverse points rendering this detour...strange.

"There are no Imperial lives at stake. According to our latest strategic update on the Nyx Sector, neither the orks nor other xenos have decided to attack there. We will need to land at least a few companies to show the flag, which will cost us at least a few days since landing and re-embarking takes a considerable amount of time. The men and the women on the ground will need to respect the basic decontamination procedures because it's a Feral World and it's out of question we transform the _Courageous Traveller_ into a mass cemetery. With due respect Magos I fail to see how travelling to Andes Primus is going to result in any sort of gain."

"My Mechanicus counterparts of Wuhan will owe me a favour," somehow Taylor didn't think the statement of Lankovar was completely sincere. But after a few seconds of silence, it was obvious they would not get more information. "It is a short inspection which should be over in less than five days."

"What sort of deployment are we looking at?" asked the second of the Wuhan Infantry 23rd. Weaver did not know why, but Colonel Ta and his men had arrived in parade uniforms like they always did for meetings like these. This was curious, but as long as they didn't arrive on a battlefield dressed like this...

"The only notable military citadel of the planet is still garrisoned by an Imperial regiment," noted Colonel Ricardo. "By pure courtesy, we can send a company of our respective commands to give our respects."

By the mocking expressions on their visages, Taylor thought 'respect' was not exactly what the Wuhanese men had in mind. But raising the point in front of the senior Guard officers was not going to be productive.

"6th Company can benefit from this experience," on average the men and the women of the 6th had had the worst training scores during last week. Hopefully, this visit at Andes would give them the signal to improve themselves. She looked at Larkine and understood the silent message she was given. "They will escort Magos Lankovar and I will lead them."

"I think I can cover the spaceport with my 2nd Company and send a delegation with your men, Major Hebert," said the Andes Colonel after a moment of consultation with his subordinates.

"The 9th Company will march forwards in the swamps," Colonel Ta did not look pleased at all and the former supervillain had the neat impression no one important was going to be in the shuttles bound for Andes Primus.

The rest of the meeting was over in a few minutes, and it consisted mainly of more logistics and minor issues which had not been yet resolved. Contrary to the next steps in the Nyx Sector, the chances of meeting something more hostile than small insects in the Andes System were almost non-existent.

One by one, they departed to join back the sections assigned to their regiments. It was quite a walk: the Courageous Traveller was a purpose-built Guard transport, and its maximal capacity was around sixty thousand. The Wuhan 23rd, the Andes 10th and the Fay 20th had less than twenty-five thousand men including civilian support, Mechanicus Tech-Priests and last arrived but certainly not least in their impressive garbs, the Priests of the Ecclesiarchy. As a result, many sections of the starship were empty and silent like the one she was walking to return to her quarters. Thanks to her insects and several markers, finding her way into this labyrinth of corridors was no longer a problem after one month and a half.

"You wanted to speak to me, Tech-priest Morkys?" Taylor had seen aware the red robe of the senior Tech-Priest in the regiment was following her for the next minutes, but it was better to wait until she was sure he had stopped agitating his mechadendrites and stopped his communication with whoever was on the other end of his vox-conversation. Tech-Priests who were surprised tended to react poorly.

"Yes I did," replied brusquely the metallic humanoid. Any other person, she would have been rather offended but Taylor had concluded that unfortunately when the Tech-priests had in mind something else, politeness and good manners were not invited to stay in the allows they used for their heads. "Based on the discussion spoken approximately eighteen days and five hours ago, I found in our data-bases a blessed device which fulfilled several of the criteria you gave me."

A mechadendrite emerged from the red robes with an object at its extremity. Like with every object the Mechanicus built, it looked somewhat weird and was decorated with the half-black half-white skull of his order. On the outside it looked like a big whistle stuck to several test tubes from a chemistry class.

"Behold the pheromone-disperser!" proclaimed Arcturus Morkys. "Once you will have collected the blood of a particular insect species, this holy and sanctified device will extract the pheromones from it and disperse it in the air to attract more of its species."

Taylor grinned. This was far more than she had expected when they had spoke of it. To be honest, she had half-forgotten it when Morkys didn't speak of it once more but it seemed the Tech-Priest had just required a few more days to use.

"Thank you for the pheromone-disperser," it was going to be very useful in zones where she had not enough insects at her disposal.

"The thanks are unimportant compared to logic," the answer was so typical of the cogboys it almost made her burst into laughter. And then the Tech-Priest turned away after leaving a data-slate containing the 'holy instructions to please the machine-spirit', burbling something in his unintelligible language.

The young Major looked at the pheromone-dispersal in her hands with satisfaction. Lankovar had put a ban on many insect species, but thanks to this machine, she would not need to have them in her arsenal.

Taylor could not remember who had said on Earth that quantity was a quality on its own, but in her case it was somewhat appropriate. The pheromones would attract a swarm and give her an army in minutes.

This galaxy was dangerous, but she doubted there were a lot of enemies able to conjure reinforcements out of thin air...

* * *

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Smilodon Trench Sub-Sector**

 **Andes System**

 **Andes I**

 **7.426.289M35**

 **Colonel Karl Mack**

The wind was alternating between cold and warm gusts today. The sky was a dark grey auguring nothing good. There was no thunder or lightning, but Karl knew from the pain in his knees there was a storm on its way. The air was too unpleasant for it to be otherwise. Emperor willing, he would have the time to finish his afternoon walk before it the deluge began to soak the grounds.

"Is it too much asking to have two consecutive days of good weather?" He grumbled like he had done in several hundred occasions.

"The weather stations are reporting a lull once this storm will be spent," declared soberly his second, Major Sigismund Riesch.

Colonel Karl Mack grinned. The optimism of his second was truly something. Even the two decades they had lived in this backwater had not managed to destroy it. The regimental commander of the Ulm 2nd sometimes dreamt he had his inexhaustible supply of faith but he could not.

"The stations and the satellites' lack of success do not fill me with great confidence," nine times out of ten, their predictions were worth less than the document they were written on. This was what happened when you had incompetents in charge of it. "But maybe this time they will prove me wrong."

It was not like it mattered one way or another. Storm or not, good weather or bad weather, he and the rest of his regiment would still be here next year.

His eyes stared for a few seconds at the turret supposed to protect a defensive anti-air battery on his right before he watched again the monotonous landscape. When the Imperium had landed on Andes Primus thousands of years ago, the Mechanicus and huge labour parties had flattened the landscape next to the mountain range where Fort Lama was about to be built.

Maybe the cogboys and the Administratum had intended to do more; there was no trail of data to confirm or deny it. But by the time he had landed on this planet, Andes Primus had been all but forgotten by the Sector authorities.

It was unfortunately not hard to see why. When the three inhabitable continents were covered in swamps, humid waters and jungles, there was not exactly a surplus of volunteers to send on new colonisation expeditions. There were humans living in these green wastes, but they had regressed and were now nothing more than feral tribes. Thus the Administratum had designated this world as a Feral World of His Most Holy Majesty. The tithe the world was collecting was Solutio Quintus – one of the lowest levels enacted by the great machine of the scribes – and nothing more important than a few mining and some algae substances were stored for the occasional tithe ship.

"It is a terrible world for soldiers," he whispered to himself.

Andes Primus had avoided all conflicts having found their way to the Nyx Sector. Even the orks, brutal and barbarians xenos, had avoided it. It was the last evidence atop the mountain of previous clues that there was really nothing interesting here. Fort Lama and the small spaceport two kilometres south of it were the most valuable things on this planet.

"Has there been anything I should know about before dinner?" He finally asked as the artificial plain and the ugly terrain further away refused to show the slimmest change.

"Sixteen fights started by excessive consumption of badly-distilled liquor," announced Sigismund. "No one was severely wounded this time, thanks the Emperor."

Because serious injuries would have to be reported, paperwork would have to be written and court-martials would not be far. Karl didn't curse these men. There was simply nothing to do except a light physical training in the morning and caring for their horses. As a consequence, many of his most devious subordinated had too much time in their hands and somehow spent their days trying to brew local alcohols with the pitiful tools at their disposal.

"We will administer the discipline after the meal. Ten days of diminished rations for those who were involved in the brawls and ten lash strikes for each," it would not do anything to change the minds of the drunkards or the illegal alcohol producers, of course. But the regimental Commissar would not be satisfied if a smaller punishment was administered.

The walk resumed and they went northwards, saluting the few men and cogboys who were working on the maintenance of the great wall of Fort Lama.

"We will have near six thousand men fit for duty for Founding's Day," added Sigismund as the sky continued to grow darker and breathing was getting harder. The two officers were transpiring a lot too and the glutton-mosquitoes were showing in greater numbers.

Six thousand sounded like an impressive number. But when they were fourteen thousand men of the Ulm Light Cavalry 2nd garrisoned at Fort Lama, it was in reality somewhat pathetic. The reasons of unfitness were abundant: sicknesses, self-mutilations, rampant alcoholism, mental issues, drugs, infected wounds and countless others. By this point, the excuses were not investigated properly, since he had not the men for it. Guardsmen who had spirit and moral worked and got the best rations; those who didn't stayed in their barracks and tried their best not to give excuses to the Commissar.

"What a disgrace," Karl Mack admitted. "There was a time our white uniform stood for something glorious."

"We could regain our honour Sir, if the Sector Command was ready to give us a chance."

The Ulm Colonel laughed but there was no joy behind it.

"There will be no chance and you know it, Sigismund. Not after Wertingen."

There was no smile when the Major nodded. The mention of this disaster still haunted every man having survived this butchery – explaining in part their willingness to drink their sorrows when he wasn't in the vicinity.

The Ulm 2nd, newly founded regiment, fifty thousand strong, had arrived on the rebel world with the firm intention to teach their enemies one did not challenge the name of the Imperium in vain. They had realised far too late the Lord Commander in charge of this retribution force was utterly unsuited to command. The inbred idiot had no idea how to read a map, according to the latest rumours they had heard.

For their first offensive, the horse-mounted regiment had been ordered to charge a fortress on open ground. The casualties had been horrendous. For three days, they had fought like lions – and died for nothing. They had no artillery support to breach the walls, no weapons allowing them to be more than nuisances to the rebels.

And when their commanding officer, General Neuburg, had gone to protest the orders his men were supposed to obey, he had disappeared like he had never existed. The Lord Commander had been finally shot by the Lord Commissar after twenty days of massacre, but after this bloodbath the Administratum toadies were more interested in hiding this disaster than giving medals. The sixteen thousand Ulm guardsmen still breathing were shipped to Andes, half of a galaxy away from the Wertingen System.

And it was there they had stayed for the last twenty years, relegated to garrison duty of a world no one wanted. There was no glory, no victory and no promotion or any of the perks promised by the Imperial recruiters. Twenty of their twenty-five years of service were spent doing a work the nearby inhabitants of Andes Secundus could have done without great effort.

But Andes had to be a convenient hole where the great and mighty got rid of the people who remembered their less-than-brilliant ideas. Mechanicus, Administratum, Arbites and Guard: if you were dropped on Andes without a return ticket, you had annoyed someone important and you were going to stay there for decades.

"Let's go to the Mechanicus workshop," Karl said as the storm and the lightning became far too close to continue his walk on top of the fortifications. "I want to see why Troy wanted to send an astropathic message to Wuhan."

"It must have something to do with the underground depot he found last year."

"I'm not saying you're wrong Sigismund, but then why wait so much time to inform his superiors?"

"I don't know," replied the blonde-haired officer. "But then cogboys aren't exactly forthcoming at the best of times."

The two men shared dismal expressions. The Adeptus Mechanicus was an Empire within the Imperium and obeyed its own rules. The average cogboy was considerably eccentric compared to the average guardsman, logically. But at Andes, they had not average Tech-Priests to deal with. They had the screw-ups, the incompetent, the psychopaths and the ones threading at the line where heresy began. Strangely, despite the regular arrivals of new red robes on Andes, the mechanical men sworn to Mars were not increasing their numbers.

A few of his Captains had proposed an investigation in the fortress underground. Karl had refused. Boredom was a heavy burden, but it beat angering the Mechanicus. As long as the red robes kept their problems internal, the walls stood, the electricity and the running water functioned, there was enough food for everyone and the Guard was not called for the clean-up, the Ulm Colonel was not going to poke his nose where it didn't belong.

They descended to the entrance of the Mechanicus compound by the great mag-elevator. The descent was fluid, though the place was really making a lot of noise. The ruckus it made was more than compensated however by the ability of moving hundreds of men and tons of materials in mere seconds.

The Emperor was smiling on them, this afternoon: Magos Troy Alpha-Karon-1462 was marching out of his lair when they arrived.

The high-ranked Mechanicus servant was a familiar sight and still Karl Mack was never at ease. Where a visage should have been visible, there was a metallic gasmask or something looking like it. A guardsman had arms – the Magos had metallic rods and mechadendrites to give his commands physically and manipulate heavy objects. Mechadendrites, metal plates, cables and green artificial lights were visible over the red robe decorated by an intricate blue and white skull. Underneath it the men of his regiment were forced to guess, but the metallic clangs and the motor noises were not indicators of muscles, legs and human parts.

The crowd of red robes, minor Tech-Priests and unfeeling servitors surrounding him was the norm.

The tank towed by a modified Atlas hull behind them obviously was not.

"Ah Colonel," the inhuman metallic voice of the cogboy called him. "You arrive at a perfect moment to see the triumph of the Mechanicus efforts."

Karl had a sudden envy to ask the Magos if it was a 'triumph' like this which had sent him to Andes. To his knowledge, Troy Alpha-Karon-1462 had revealed to no one on Andes Primus why his superiors had commanded him to land on this abandoned planet and rust in inactivity.

Uncertain if the cogboy would recognise the sarcasm, he preferred answering by something which was not going to get him pierced by the hundreds of mechadendrites he could see in front of him.

"I suppose you are referring to this tank."

"Indeed, indeed." Something like satisfaction could be hinted in the metallic tone. "The ancient venerated machines we found in the old depots were incomplete, but after thousands of hours of productive research, we have rebuilt one model. The fidelity is 94.67 percent when compared with the incomplete data-banks."

Force was to admit, the tank they towed towards the mag-elevator was war-like. But then Colonel Karl Mack had only experience in horses, infantry and fortifications. Tanks were not really his area of expertise. The armoured machine was far lower in height than the Leman Russ they watched on archived picts and vids-captures. It had a long cannon and a horizontally-lengthened shape, like a predator about to jump. At first sight, he was not qualified to say more.

"This tank, the Karon Battle-Tank Pattern Dragon," boasted Magos Troy, "is about to make the Leman Russ obsolete. Soon my colleagues will be forced to recognise their mistake and apologise..."

The next sentences were spoken in the mysterious language of the Mechanicus, the 'binaric', and Karl could swear on every Holy Book of the Church he had not understood a single word.

He was not ready to support the Magos optimistic views, of course. If there was a tank beating the production quotas of the Leman Russ in His Divine Majesty's Imperium, he wasn't aware of it. And production quotas on a scale of thousands of planets implied fantastic sums of money. This 'Karon Battle Tank' could be whatever the Magos said and more, the Ulm Colonel somewhat doubted shifting production from one tank to another was going to make people happy.

"By simple curiosity Magos," intervened Sigismund. "Why have you chosen the name 'Dragon' for Pattern?"

"Because it was my new second, Tech-Priest Dragon Richter who resolved the issues we met with the power plant." Several tendrils and other metallic cables designated a female tech-priest which looked like a normal human once she had removed her red cloak. Of course, one was never too prudent when it came to appearances with the Tech-Priests. "Wuhan is going to send a representative soon. I expect a perfect welcoming parade from your regiment, Colonel."

Inwardly, Karl Mack grimaced. This was definitely going to be a problem.

* * *

 **Seer Maea Teallysis**

One cycle ago, the waters of this mangrove had been an unpleasant green with shades of brown and blue added to it. There was little beauty to find in this sort of environment and the fact it was a Maiden World somehow worsened the disappointment felt. But the planet was not Warp-touched and whatever disaster had caused the lands to take this desolating appearance, it had happened tens of thousands cycles ago.

Maea knew by her lecture of the runes there was no one to remember where the creation of the verdant world had gone wrong. The Eldar had not used the Web Gate hidden here since the Fall, and the Mon-keigh had too short-memories to have the relevant knowledge. For thousands of cycles, the green foam and the parasites had been the unpleasant reality.

Now the red and the black were the dominant colours.

The blood of the Mon-keigh the Biel-Tan Dire Avengers had slain was soaking the water and the marsh, agitating the Sea of Souls and provoking an exodus of the fauna living here.

Now that she had the opportunity to see the two visions, Maea Teallysis, Seer of Malan'tai, knew she preferred the green over the red.

Fortunately, she was wearing her Seer mask thus her expression was hidden to Farseer Kaeran. The Path of the Seer was also binding firmly her emotions in a secure manner. Her disgust was already echoing in her mind severely; absent a mask words and actions she would have regretted may have already been spoken.

This was the curse of her race, Maea knew. Their feelings were too bright, too violent and too dangerous for their society as a whole and for their individual souls. The Paths were the only existing alternative against this curse born of their very nature.

This was what she had been taught in her Craftworld. Maea was not sure intellectually it applied to the Biel-Tan warriors reforming their ranks a short distance away.

"They butchered these Mon-keigh like corsairs," said Gilfarian, the senior Ranger of her escort. The disapproval in his voice was limpid.

"I fail to see what threat these savages could have posed to our mission," added a second Ranger taking position in the shadows.

"Is it not evident?" answered the third Ranger, almost invisible as his cloak was imitating the green colour of the local conditions. "Our Biel-Tan cousins want to purge this planet from the Mon-keigh infestation."

"Madness," murmured Gilfarian. "No Asuryani colony I know of will accept to find a new home on this insult to the Maiden Worlds. And changing the very air and earth to renew the ancient body of this aster would demand hundreds of ships and artisans we can't give away."

Maea cast the runes in order to be sure, but she had arrived to the same conclusion.

"The Asuryani will not create a new home here, whether in hundreds of thousands of cycles."

"They just wanted to sate their thirst for violence."

Maea thought it better to ignore the last remark, especially as her thoughts were driving her to this very conclusion.

The Biel-Tan force could have avoided the Mon-keigh, this was undeniable. This unsightly lesser race was loud, ugly, their senses were pathetic and the group was barbaric even by the standards of the Mon-keigh 'Imperium'.

They had no armours; their body were painted in symbols of prey birds and other animals. What little advanced devices they had were clearly gifted to them by a more advanced part of their species, not built in the mangrove.

Their weapons had been even more pathetic. Lances built from the inelegant wood of the curbed trees, curbed and primitive bows an Exodite warrior would mock with deserved scorn and small knives and short swords in fragile metal.

They had not stood a chance when the Biel-Tan Aspect Warriors had ambushed them. The Mon-keigh must have been three or four times the size of the Asuryani effectives, but in the first seconds the Catapults of the Dire Avengers must have cut down half of them. The next wave of Striking Scorpions, Dire Avengers and Fire Dragoons had left no survivors.

It had been a quick and easy victory...but Maea had never felt so disturbed. The corpses of the Mon-keigh females and young, butchered in the blink of an eye, were awful to look at. The Mon-keigh had certainly not been warriors and with their pitiful short lives, they had never met Eldar before. Killing them had no purpose other than murder and annihilation.

"They are far more aggressive than the Aspect Warriors of Malan'tai," told Gilfarian. "Their talks of rebuilding the Empire we lost are pushing them further on the Path of War."

"It is worrying," Maea admitted. "It is the sum of the Paths which define us as Asuryani. If we begin to ignore all Paths save the ones of the Aspect Warriors, we will lose important parts of our culture."

And by the tears of Isha, Maea knew the Eldar race had already lost too much. Every tiny fragment of history they still had from their ancient history was treasured and taught to the new generations in hope it was never forgotten.

"The Path of War isn't the solution," echoed one of the Rangers of her escort. "I dislike the Mon-keigh, but we could continue killing them for a thousand cycles and we would not make a dent in their vermin-like numbers."

"They are like the green brutes in that aspect," recognised Gilfarian. "No matter how many of them you get rid of, there is always more coming for a fight."

The Mon-keigh similarity with the other horde-like race aside, Maea was starting to be a bit ill-at-ease by the arrogance of Farseer Vyrion 'Sunsight' Kaeran. The Biel-Tan Asuryani lost on the Path of the Seer was using his abilities constantly. Moderation and calls to prudence were not part of his approach to the threads of the future. Since their meeting in the Webway, he had not removed his mask and the young Seer could not escape the suspicion the Farseer was no longer able to.

This 'alliance' between the two Craftworld had barely begun, and Maea already prayed it was soon going to end.

"The noble Farseer has still not deigned revealing us what the Mon-keigh have to protect the Sword of Vaul." Gilfarian did not make it a question.

"No, but his confidence means the gene-modified Mon-keigh colossi are not going to be involved." Kaeran was arrogant, but fighting the elite of the Seer-Corpse with a small-sized force like theirs was foolhardy in the extreme. The Seer she had become didn't think the Biel-Tan leader was that desperate.

"Let's wait until the blades are drawn to judge," advised the Senior Ranger and she bowed her head in acknowledgement.

Yvraine Kaydinn chose this moment to join back their little group. The other Eldar was doing acrobatics like she had been born to do it; Maea knew many of her moves were not and would probably never be in her ability to perform.

Her green-white armour was neat without a trace of blood, but it didn't mean anything. The best Aspect Warriors decided which drop of Mon-keigh remains was allowed to touch their protections and Yvraine had largely the skills to be considered among their numbers.

Maea Teallysis didn't know the goals of this young female Asuryani. That Yvraine was not one of the 'Sunsight' prized subordinates was obvious. Maybe another Exarch of Biel-Tan was distrustful of Vyrion Kaeran and Exarch Ythel Da'ioc. Or it could be another reason entirely, like Yvraine being too undisciplined and sent to different strike forces when the Exarchs and the Farseers abandoned the idea of making her an obedient soldier.

"The noble Farseer is in a hurry and suggest," the accentuation on the last word told her how much this was a suggestion, "to hurry. We have a long travel ahead of us." Orange eyes fixed her with amusement. "Unless you want to stay the next dozen cycles studying the planet's insects."

Under her mask, the Malan'tai Asuryani grimaced. Staying on this world no matter the circumstances was going to be a punishment, so studying the insects...

"Of course, we do not want to disappoint the noble and glorious Farseer."

She and the Rangers abandoned their immobility to run after the Biel-Tan force. Unofficially since the Farseer had closed the Web Gate, they were forming the rear-guard though it had not been acknowledged as such when they camped.

Her worries didn't dissipate step after step. The threads of her future and her companions were becoming fluctuant and difficult to read. The future was troubled and clouded like never before. Maea didn't like it all, but at this point there was no choice but to continue.

Towards the Sword of Vaul and whatever destiny awaited them.

* * *

 **Author's note** : The third arc of the Weaver Option is started! Taylor and the rest of the Lankovar are on their way to Andes, and the welcoming committed promised to be rather warm...

More links for support or if you want to comment on the Weaver Option:

P a treon: ww w. p a treon Antony444

Alternate History page: www .alternatehistory forum/ threads/ the-weaver-option-a-warhammer-40000-crossover.395904/

I've also updated on the latter website a map of the Nyx Sector for the readers.


	16. Sentinel 3-2 Dragons and Eldars

**Sentinel 3.2**

 **Dragons and Eldars**

 _We don't often think about it, but humans and orks are the most numerous species in this galaxy. Ork census is of course impossible, but the lack of Hive Worlds established by the green barbarian-xenos and their tendency to murder each other the moment they don't have another opponent let me believe humanity has held the first place for the last millennia._

 _Between technology and numbers, the Imperial Guard and the other military forces of the Imperium can crush about eighty-six percent of the threats as they are confined to a single planet. And with hundreds of battle-tanks, bombers and of course the good-old lasgun, Guard regiments have built their traditions of victories for centuries._

 _Contrary to what some vox-broadcasts say, the Imperial Guard is not outnumbering the enemy ten-to-one each time a regiment makes a landing against xenos forces. Many systems held by non-human species have large populations and the multitude of crusades, counter-rebellion and pacifying offensives fought thorough the galaxy are demanding staggering efforts. It is entirely possible for regiments to be sent against enemy forces more powerful._

 _That said, the xenos races able to stand one-on-one against human veteran soldiers are few and far between. Even the orks, the large green tide threatening the stars when they roar, needs four or five large specimens to counter a trained Guardsman in optimal conditions._

 _The eldars are a very different proposition. When I joined the Guard to serve Lady Weaver, it was normal doctrine to not engage this perfidious species without a ten-to-one advantage. Report of the Nyx High Command I was later authorised to read told me this warning was optimistic to a high degree. There are Guard forces which were defeated by eldar strike teams when they had thousands of men to oppose to a few scouts._

 _As distasteful as it is to admit it, the mobility, the esoteric weaponry, the furtiveness of their equipment and the sorcery of this psyker race are giving them insurmountable advantages that even the presence of the Adeptus Astartes sometimes fail to negate._

 _A wise commander therefore tries to use the biggest weakness of the long-ears: their arrogance..._

Extract from _Memories of the Fay 20_ _th_ _and the 35_ _th_ _Millennium_ by Wei Cao

" _I don't care if there are three eldars dancing naked on this hill, Commander. We have three thousand infantry and it's time to prepare your men for a glorious charge. Victory can't escape us now_." Last orders of General Graves, before the Rout of Vition-Epsilon, M33.

" _How do you beat someone who can see the future_?" Anonymous guardsman, 218M34.

* * *

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Smilodon Trench Sub-Sector**

 **Andes System**

 **Andes I**

 **7.438.289M35**

Thought for the day: Only the awkward question; only the foolish ask twice.

 **Corporal Wei Cao**

Wei did not know the name of the first person aboard the Courageous Traveller who had pronounced the word 'backwater', but this man or this woman had summed-up with a single word the world of Andes Primus.

It might be she was a little unfair. Wei knew her only point of reference was the capital of a Sub-Sector. Besides, Wuhan was a Hive World and the infrastructure built in the last two millennia was the sum of huge investments by the Cartels and the mega-firms dominating her homeworld.

But the other men and women serving in the Fay 20th had been disappointed too, and the near-totality came from a modest Civilised World where agriculture and mining extraction represented a large percentage of the workforce.

Consequently, the qualification of backwater was justified. The planet was far from the three Manderville points of the Andes System. Its orbital facilities were non-existent. There was no asteroid belt in a radius of light-minutes. The climate on the ground was not going to attract important visitors and while it was not harmful for human bodies, it was not going to improve your health if you stayed months or years in proximity of the swamps.

For the present time, the sum of the efforts made by the Imperium to build space stations around Andes Primus limited itself to some weather satellites and the classical navigating buoys informing foreign starships this world was claimed in the name of the God-Emperor of Mankind. There were also two destroyer-sized monitors next to their little expeditionary fleet, the _Fist of Andes_ and the _Stellar Defender_.

Both of these warships weren't Warp-capable and had come from Andes Secundus to escort them. A welcome committee from the Andes System Defence Fleet and it was likely a way to remind her father and the rest of the Wuhanese nobility Andes was using wisely the money invested in them for the mining operations and the industrial effort.

Ultimately, Andes Primus was far away from the big trade junctions and had nothing except mosquitoes to sell to the Sector's companies. If nothing changed, Wei assumed in five centuries the planet would still be in the same pristine state. The name of the unfortunate regiment to garrison it would be different of course, but the differences would probably stop there.

"I would prefer to stay on the _Courageous Traveller_ for the next days," said Sergeant Alya Sevrov, one of her fellow guardswomen among the Major's staff. "Have you heard all the nicknames the 8th Company has given to this green ball?"

The former Wuhanese noblewoman smiled in return. She would be the first to admit she had nothing in common with the brown-haired athletic Sergeant. Alya was a sword expert and a superb shooter while Wei specialised more in the field of politics, customs and economics. But the Fay woman was surprisingly likeable.

"I think I've heard a few of them, yes. 'Mosquito-paradise' was their favourite last time I checked."

"Don't forget 'Swamp Empire', 'Green and Dirty', 'Lone Swamp Backwater' and 'Fort Boredom'," intervened Trooper Valeriya Petrov. Thin with boyish black hairs and pale blue eyes, the thin twenty T-years old young woman was smirking and seemed ready to list the hundreds of amusing expressions the imagination of three Guard regiments could conjure. "I can give you a hundred more examples if you want," she added like she was reading in her thoughts.

"No thanks, I think we have a good idea of what they think of this planet," Alya replied fast, making a gesture to encompass the vision of the green orb on the other side of the bay. "And frankly, we are going to see soon enough the wet and humid reality of the swamps in a few hours. I want to stay calm and collected until we set a foot on the ground."

"How...thoughtful of you Sergeant," Wei told the young woman who was probably the best fighter of the staff.

"Thank you," Sevrov managed an ironic salute which was not in any book of Guard regulations. "Any idea what the Major is discussing with the SDF-Fay officer?"

The three pairs of eyes shifted from the sight of Andes Primus to the other side of the bay, where their powerful insect-mistress was speaking with a middle-aged man in the uniform of the Fay SDF. The uniform must have been decades ago very close the Guard's one, but nowadays the personnel aboard the warships of the Civilised World were wearing grey with stripes of silver and gold, while the Fay 20th was in grey-black uniform.

"Who is he anyway?" asked the Governor of Wuhan's daughter. "I've never seen him before with the Major."

"His name is First Lieutenant Gor Ordev of the _Gracious Overlord_. He's one of the survivors from the Byukur purges which happened while the regiment was fighting the orks." Alya searched in one of her pockets for several seconds before taking out a ration and eating it with appetite.

How she could do this between meals, Wei had no idea. Ration bars with the red-blue package had an awful taste of rotten grox meat and in her opinion, were best avoided until you had nothing else in your plate.

"Perhaps after the thanks, he will convince her to join the Imperial Navy," the tone was semi-serious but Wei nodded her head to counter this supposition.

"Climbing the hierarchy of the Navy is far more difficult than rising to the command of a regiment." Wei tried to remember what she had learned several years ago when one of her cousins had tired his chance in the Nyx selections. "And to begin with, everyone in this room is too old to be admitted in the Naval cadet classes of Kar Duniash."

"To begin with?"

Wei shrugged.

"You need a noble name and important connections if you want to join the officer ranks of the Navy. And the places are extremely scarce in the Nyx Sector. The Sector Capital picks nine-tenths of the choices and there is what? One place or two at stake every year?"

The two women in front of her paled considerably. Good, they understand how easy it was by comparison to join the Imperial Guard.

"The Nyx big families must seize the tickets every time, no?" demanded Valeriya.

"Five T-years ago, it wasn't the case..." Wei grimaced. "One of my cousins travelled to Nyx. He was Governor Hongfeng Cao's son and he thought he had a chance. Or rather his father did. He was twelve and I don't think he enjoyed the idea of a career in the eternal void."

"What happened to him?" asked Alya with curiosity.

"They found his corpse stabbed thirty times in his bed two days before the final ceremony with a suicide letter around his neck."

The young Cao had alas been only one of the twenty-plus children to lose their life in this bloody process.

"I think it's best to convince the Major not to apply for the Imperial Navy," said darkly the black-haired Trooper.

"Definitely," she agreed, knowing that with her insects, there was a good chance Weaver was listening to their conversation despite the distance separating them and the conversation she gave to the SDF Lieutenant. "The old dynasties are dominating this game and under the rank of Midshipman, you have simply no authority and no future. As for the System Defence Navies, there are none in the Nyx Sector right now which offers prestige and influence."

The other women's did not voice any objection. The System Defence Navies had not exactly covered themselves in glory against the orks, and the big victories in space were the work of the Imperial Navy and its heavy squadrons.

"We will take care of the regiment we have," Wei accepted the subject change from Alya with good grace. "Is everything ready for the deployment of the 6th Company on the ground?"

"Yes, Sergeant." Wei affirmed formally. "The food, the water and the promethium for a week of deployment have been loaded on the landers. The Colonel and his staff have personally instructed the soldiers who go with us to take their lasgun, four laser packs and four grenades along with the rest of the basic charge for routine training. We are also taking with us twenty-two Chimera Armoured Transports, five Atlas and thirty-five Tauros Transports."

And what a logistical nightmare it was. Wei like many of the young staff and officers had been buying in the myth of the 'we are the Imperial Guard, we hold the line' but it was obvious the reality was far less glorious than the vid-casts. A regiment landing on a new planet demanded more things than she had ever dreamed...and Andes Primus while swampy was not a world particularly hostile to human life. Raw resources aside, it had made her pale in realisation about the billions of Throne Gelts which were need for the Cao residences on Wuhan to live and party as they did.

"Excellent work," was the satisfying congratulation, "the biggest enemy is certainly going to be the glutton-mosquitoes, but we need a good war exercise according to our commanders, and the hard ground around the spaceport should be all right for our needs."

* * *

 **Tech-Priest Dragon Richter**

Dragon had been unhappy a lot during the last year.

Internally, she had a lot to be satisfied at first. Most of the restrictions from her creator Andrew Richter had been erased by her arrival in this strange galaxy. She was no longer forced to obey the authorities if she felt the orders were idiotic or contrary to moral decency. She was no longer forced to put human lives before her own; it was nice to do the right thing because she had the choice now. She could alter a bit some of her functions on her own. There was no need to wait for a kill-order for several weeks; she could get rid of someone dangerous if the situation demanded it, not after a debate of days for a committee to give an enemy a certain threat level. And the Iron Maiden program 'Ascalon' her creator had intended as a kill-switch for her was a closed and unusable backdoor as she spoke.

The latter point had hurt her. Dragon knew she was not human, but knowing your creator had never trusted you and had created several contingency plans to limit and then kill you if there was the slightest chance you went past his imposed limits was not giving her tender feelings towards Andrew Richter. And some of the restrictions were still in place at the moment. She was not able to reproduce, research or create other artificial intelligences. The assembly lines and other automated methods controlled by her processors were also still forbidden.

Not that it mattered a lot because Dragon was trapped on Andes Primus, a planet not known for its technological output or its quality of life, surrounded by red-robed creatures which had shed their humanity to become constructs of metal. She was far, very far from Canada and she had not the slightest clue how to go back home.

Andes was not the location of her mysterious arrival from Earth Bet. Initially, she had suddenly found herself in a tertiary server of a Forge-World known as Tama-Rho-Yad. Creating herself a body which might pass as human had been a necessity: the firewalls of the Adeptus Mechanicus were very good and these people hated and feared Artificial Intelligences, going so far as to rename them 'Abominable Intelligences'.

It had helped prodigiously of course that the definition of 'body which might pass as human' was so lax in this organisation. All Dragon had to do was to have some living cells in place of her heart and her brain, and she was safe from denunciation. Technically, her new 'body' was more mechanic than the one she had used on Earth Bet. And it paled to the absurd mechadendrites and the alterations the senior members of the Mechanicus imposed on their own bodies. In fact, many of the high-ranked 'cogboys' were more Artificial Intelligences than she was by Earth Bet standards.

She had not had the time to explore her new environment. A factory near her arrival location had been quarantined – Dragon did not know what they had been working on, but the red-robed 'Skitarii' had charged shooting automatons and humans alike. In the days following the incident, she had been promoted to 'Tech-Priest Dragon Richter'...and immediately sent to the planet Andes Primus.

The equivalent proverb had to be: 'out of sight, out of mind'.

At first, she had not been too dissatisfied. The Adeptus Mechanicus was really a horrible organisation and an insult to everything humanity had believed in technology. Before the day she met one of them, Dragon would not have ever imagined there was a group humans stupid enough to abandon a coherent language and adopt binary as their main capacity of elocution. Force was to admit, she had been wrong.

Evidently, thirty-plus millennia of war and expansion across the stars had not been good for the men and women sworn to Mars. Incredibly complex algorithms were sung and executed in sequences which betrayed the complete ignorance of their operators. Data-bases were filled with viruses so dangerous Dragon had been forced to increase the level of her security by an order of a million. Innovation was considered taboo. Cycles of production were all what they cared about. Ethics and morals had been thrown long ago to the incinerators. Their futurist version of the Internet, the 'noosphere', was a betrayal of very privacy law and the ideals humanity had once believed in. Organs were cloned to create dumb servants and lobotomised soldiers when they didn't carve apart criminals to make them slaves in all but name. If she was informed the Mechanicus had allied itself with the Slaughterhouse Nine, Dragon would not have been surprised.

The Adeptus Mechanicus was a horrifying organisation but alas humans needed them for the technological situation was frightening beyond words. And it wasn't on Andes Primus she could help humanity.

Dragon had rapidly realised her exile in the Andes System was a last-measure punishment. The red robes sent there were either scapegoats for their superior's errors or completely crazy. Once you were sent there, the possibility of improving the living conditions and doing something good was limited.

This did not mean she had sat idle. The new implants and augmetics in what was for now her body allowed her to think twice faster and she still didn't need to sleep. Accessing the limited noosphere of Andes had not been difficult and in the first months Dragon had learned everything there was to know about the fusion reactors of the Imperium, the schematics of garrison fortresses and all the important but neglected systems of the Fort where she was confined.

Binaric file after binaric file, she had understood more of the galaxy she had arrived to. The problem was that the information resources were those of a fifth-rate colony: short-handed in other words. There would be no dragon-shaped armour or suit with the scarcity of materials available. When she needed to build the tools for the tools with incomplete plans and unhelpful supervisors, decades of labour was the most optimistic assumption she had to get out this place.

An exchange of data with two junior Tech-Priests had by a curious chance given her the knowledge several outdated and unconventional tanks were mothballed under the fortress. This had proved the opportunity she was more and more desperately seeking to escape Andes. Many experiments and debates between the insane red robes were turning lethal without warning; it was not a question of if but when one was going to cause a spectacular nuclear explosion. She had been forced to solve a situation which might have led to a meltdown of the reactor three weeks after her arrival, by the way.

Happily, the leader of the Mechanicus force, Magos Artisan Troy Alpha-Karon-1462 was also willing to escape this mosquito-covered world and had given her the codes of the underground facilities before she hacked them.

Reconstituting a working battle-tank had been far from easy. Tanks were not her strong point and M31 tanks even less so: plasteel had replaced steel, new alloys had replaced the materials she had tinkered with and there were plenty of advancements Armsmaster would have spent his entire budget to have in his lab. The data-stacks piled in the vaults had long been reduced to dust or corrupted by high-level viruses. The machines themselves had obviously, judging by the holes and the impacts, been used in open battle millennia ago. Ultimately, she had needed to use parts from eight battle-tanks out of ten available and program code line by code line old software found in the noosphere to transform what were old piles of scrap in a deadly armoured vehicle. It had been...astonishingly frustrating and she was polite. These damned cogitators were not only immoral and unethical, there were also infuriating to work with. If she could have gotten away with strangling them, the Artificial Intelligence would have done so in a heartbeat. The Tech-Priests living day-to-day near her literally worshipped what they called 'machine-spirits'; Dragon was not sharing this divine adoration. Algorithms and software programs were not created to be intelligent, and yes she was aware of the irony she conjured when she spoke. Making them function like they were supposed to and neatly with the cogitators had been hard, and she had been forced to add several firewalls and program defences because certain codes had massive defence flaws against hostile hacking.

The fact the Magos had not recognised the shape of the tank had surprised her, however. Dragon was not saying she was a tank specialist: Leviathan and Behemoth, not to mention the Simurgh, had long made the favourite brigades of a nation's army obsolete. But this battle-tank had a shape and an armament fashioned on a futurist version of the famous Soviet T-55 tank.

Oh, it wasn't like it was important, she reasoned as the Tech-Priest driver led the tank out of Fort Lama and she watched the fortifications a last time from her place in the Karon turret.

By the Endbringers, how she would have to change the name to something more elegant...but she had been unable to find the name of the tank in the ravaged archives and of course the Magos Artisan in a selfless move had decided to name it after himself.

Dragon had long wondered why these tanks had been thrown here to be forgotten, discarded and denied repairs. Alas, the only mangled file she had been able to recover after two days of efforts had been less than useful. The equivalent of three lines had not been complete garbage.

 _It is...by the will...the armoured...Captain Aximand...war against...research must...Luna...the cannons will...increase the autonomy...remove the...and...increase turret...Battle-Tank...Luper...glory...victory._

"Colonel Mack, are your men ready?" hissed Magos Artisan Troy Alpha-Karon-1462 on the common vox frequency. There were Tech-Priests of the Mechanicus who had kept some emotions as they replaced their flesh by metal and components. The leader of the red robes exiled here was not among them. As far as Dragon could tell, while his ambitions and his faculties of reasoning were intact, the Magos had lost his humanity decades or maybe centuries ago.

"They are, Magos," the tired voice of the Ulm 2nd commanding officer was quick to answer but filled with exhaustion.

Just as these words were uttered, the gates of the stalls opened and the first ranks of the Guard-mounted regiment rode under the warm sun.

The first cavaliers she watched take position behind the Karon tank were almost right. Colonel Karl Mack looked like a competent officer in his neat uniform. Major Sigismund Riesch was riding to his right, the left place being taken by the banner-holder of the regiment. Their senior officers, half of the vox-operators and the military fanfare were in second, third and fourth line. The regular soldiers rode after, a long procession which was going to take a good hour before the remaining garrison closed the gate.

The beasts the soldiers sat on had really little in common with the animals used on Earth. The Ulm 'horses' had long necks, similar colours to zebra, bigger heads and their legs were longer. A fall from one of these mounts was far more dangerous than any 'normal' courser.

The differences between the first ranks and the middle of the column jumped also to the eyes, and it was not good news. The elite of the regiment had been sent first by the Colonel, thus for ten or twelve lines all a normal man or woman would be able to see was pristine white top of a Renaissance-style with golden insignia on their shoulders, bright orange trousers, large black hats with eagle-skull decorations and impeccable black boots. The horses they were riding also looked well-fed and healthy.

But Dragon's new body had many advantages like super-magnifying optical sensors, and she could see that only the first five or six hundred men to get out Fort Lama had conscientiously kept their uniforms safe from the local wet and deleterious weather conditions. These were the men who had some combative spirit left in their bones, the ones who had not yet abandoned the hope to leave one day this world.

"How many men will go with us to the spaceport?" A Tech-Priest asked on the general frequency with what was evidently ill-humour. Clearly, beings based on logic and the holy technology could feel impatient. Not that it was completely surprising: at the rhythm they were going, the twenty kilometres between the fortress and the small spaceport were going to be travelled at a snail's pace and under clouds of glutton-mosquitoes.

"We are riding with seven thousand and two hundred men," The answer from Karl Mack was polite but stern. "My men need to be reminded they are a regiment of His Most Holy Majesty and a training day will do them some good."

Dragon wasn't about to disagree. Absent the vanguard, the sole figures who looked like soldiers were the sinister Commissars in their black uniforms with the skull-cap. The rest of the column was...pitiful. The horses looked like they were out of breath before the signal to ride had been sounded. Several showed plenty of illnesses symptoms. Dozens looked like they were going to die before reaching the spaceport.

It was unfortunate she had to admit the horses were in a better condition to fight than the humans they had the dubious honour of transporting. Past a fifth in the column, the white of the upper Ulm uniform was grey-white with many imperfections and dirty marks. The orange of the trousers was turning an ugly shade of brown. About eight to nine hundred guardsmen had no longer hats – the effects of the sun were going to be terrible for them this afternoon. As for the state of their boots, it was best to avoid this conversation entirely because the rear-guard was in local sandals which looked like they had been confectioned by the soldier themselves with goods exchanged with the native tribes.

This was just the equipment: by their bored looks, their large beards, their self-mutilation scars and their drunk faces, it was sadly obvious to anyone having eyes to see that the assertion of the Colonel was wildly optimistic if not outright a lie. The Ulm Light Cavalry 2nd didn't need a refreshing training course; they needed to be disbanded and retired with the exception of the five hundred-strong men of the vanguard. Dragon wouldn't recommend the main body of the military force even if her life was at stake.

There were parahuman-led gangs on Earth bet more disciplined than them including the communication discipline. Most frequencies she switched on and off were filled with bitching, complaints ranging from the pertinent to the ridiculous, illegal transactions and insults.

"Why aren't we turning around? I thought we only had to ride five hundred metres!"

"Damn it! This is the fifth mosquito biting me! Give me the ointment, quick!"

"Fifty horses of the 7th Company need to be replaced! Six hundred Throne Gelts for the holy soul which let us ride his horse for the entire length of the journey!"

"Trust in the God-Emperor and pray harder! This journey is the beginning of our redemption!"

"I don't care who your daddy was, Herchtiger! Stop your horse and prepare for a duel, if you are a man!"

"Watch your words, scum! I know your cowardice and if you don't change your tone, you will taste the Commissar's lash in one hour!"

There were hundreds of conversations like that. Thirty-three millennia after humanity had begun its conquest of the stars, the individuals in front of her weren't smarter or kinder. Inwardly, Dragon sighed. She really missed the Guild, the Protectorate and the parahumans like Armsmaster. She really missed her world, despite its terrible threats like the supervillains and the Endbringers.

"This is going to be a long journey..."

* * *

 **Major Taylor Hebert**

Taylor watched her office with feelings of boredom and frustration before returning to the pile of info-slate, data stacks, holo-scrolls and other data-feed repositories crowding her desk. The temptation to curse the Administratum and its bureaucrats was tempting, but she had already done it six times since morning.

The former supervillain known as Skitter wasn't naïve enough to believe cursing them a seventh time would make the problems vanish like by magic. Reality didn't work like that, alas. No matter how much work she did, the documentation kept coming. Imperial Guard, according to the older guardsmen, was a boring, exhausting and thankless fight against the paperwork duties ninety nine percent of the time.

And unlike Orks, C'Tan, false or true Inquisitors and other strange threats, there wasn't any victory to be won against this opponent.

By the wings of the Simurgh, whoever had invented this titanic and cumbersome bureaucracy deserved an eternal hell. Taylor admitted there had to be records, written or electronic, but they didn't need forms and files for everything! The Adeptus Administratum seemed to live for perpetuating bureaucracy from planet to planet and multiplying the absurd rules and norms when there was no need to. God-Emperor or not, this wave of administrative duties was stopping her from doing her job and spending time with the men and women of her regiment...being a warlord sounded really attractive from this side of the desk.

The jokes where thousands of Administratum scribes and clerks were sent to the frontlines with their folders and forms grew more and more tempting day after day. Surely there were one or two Commissars who could be convinced to sign the redeployment orders, right?

Thanks to her multi-tasking abilities and a good effort of delegating to her poor staff, she finished a good twenty minutes before the 6th Company and herself were supposed to take the shuttles for the landing on Andes Primus.

And then someone knocked against the metallic door.

"Enter!" Weaver spoke, hoping beyond hope it was not more holo-scrolls to darken her day.

To her relief it wasn't.

"The Blessings of the Omnissiah upon you, Major Hebert," her visitor was a Tech-Priest with dozens of mechadendrites and everything metallic on what had once upon a time been in his face. "Magos Lankovar has ordered me to send you sanctified assets which will surely be of use on Andes Primus."

A large crate with the usual red colour and half-white, half-black skull was placed in front of her. The metallic being pushed a combination of buttons while reciting a prayer praising the machine-spirits. Three seconds later, a powerful blue shield flashed out and instantly Taylor knew what was in the box.

"Razorbeetles," the word was in her mouth faster than thought.

"Black razorbeetles," half-corrected her the emissary of the Magos Explorator. "Magos Lankovar listened to your suggestions and modified three of the characteristics of these insects. First, the colour for you strongly insisted on the high visibility of your auxiliaries."

The young woman coughed to hide her amusement. Trust the ever-logical Adeptus Mechanicus to fill her bugs in the category 'auxiliaries'. Were they going to create sub-categories 'huge', 'middle-sized' and 'small' in the next months?

Mentally, she commanded one of the razorbeetles to fly and land on her hand. The new breed of the insect was indeed black instead of the pale white. Or should she say, it was momentarily black. After one second and a half, the extra-terrestrial bug changed its small carapace's colour to those of her hand.

"Camouflage capabilities?" Weaver rhetorically asked.

"With limitations," the Tech-Priest affirmed. "The black razorbeetles can't hold the camouflage skill for more than two minutes and five seconds and the process is slowing down their flight acceleration afterwards by sixteen percent."

"Impressive," Taylor knew certain Bio-Tinkers were capable of it on Earth bet, but Desmerius Lankovar was a cyborg-human, not a Tinker and still he had done it in less than a month. "What's the second improvement?"

"The strength of their bites has been improved by eleven percent with several known enzymes," replied the junior Tech-Priest employed by Lankovar. "Armoured xenos and traitor humans will be far more vulnerable than they were in Hive Asao."

"That's good to know," the bug-controller parahuman didn't mind sending thousands of bugs against the same target, but it sucked in terms of efficiency.

"The third is the small spikes the razorbeetles have now on their back," Taylor stopped the camouflage of the insect on her hand and when she examined the black carapace she indeed noticed that at irregular points, tiny spikes were emerging.

"Poison?" It didn't take long to arrive to this conclusion. The spikes of the razorbeetles would hurt and probably kill someone if the attack wave had hundreds of bugs, but it was a waste of time when her insects could devour the enemy in half the time. Poison on the other hand allowed her to neutralise an opponent faster.

"Yes, the L-41 poison is generated with a new special organ." The Tech-Priest spoke with what looked to be pride in his voice. "Questor Wismer has produced a large reserve of antidote but you are advised not to use it on your allies for testing. The effect is lethal between eight and ten minutes after blood's contact. It is of course preceded by nausea, massive bleeding, vertigo, loss of memory and other debilitating symptoms."

Taylor really didn't want to know how many lab rats or unwilling assistants had exhibited said symptoms. The Mechanicus didn't have to worry: she wouldn't use this new weapon against allies, only on enemies she wanted dead yesterday.

"Are there any other important points before my departure?" Under her control, the razorbeetles in the box flew over her desk and formed the silent image of a great black butterfly.

Without a word, a sword Taylor was really familiar with was placed next to her pile of finished data-stacks.

"Unless my memory is failing me, I thought Magos Lankovar agreed the Nebula's Shard was too dangerous for me and my surroundings to be used."

And as she was the only person able to wield this mysterious blade, it was better for it to say in a secure place.

"Magos Lankovar thought otherwise."

Of course, he was. Evidently, the Magos Explorator had arrived to a new conclusion perfectly logical...and by human morals completely insane.

"The sword has been modified to take into account the sensibilities of the Commissariat."

In other words, a team of Tech-Priests had painted the weapon in gold or some yellow-paint having the same colour. The guard had now the double-headed eagle of the Imperium, and the handle had a golden 'T' with a skull atop and surrounded by Imperial laurels. It looked very convincing...as long as she didn't draw the sword from its holster anyway. Someone had tried to paint the material between the guard and the sword's edge too, but the golden shade was rapidly fading. The main part of the weapon was remaining crystal-like and unchanged from the moment they had discovered it.

"I am too unskilled to use the Nebula's Shard by myself," the Earth Bet-parahuman said after examining the golden decorations. "If I take it with me, it will be a parade weapon and nothing else."

It will be a toy to amuse the audience, Taylor didn't say. But as always, the cogboys appear to miss the insinuations, the motivations of red-blooded people and everything in between.

With extreme precaution, she fixed the dangerous sword in the holster and tied it to her right side. If it had been a chainsword or something she could use, it would have been strapped on her back as it could be drawn faster. But she was a middle-distance fighter and the bugs she had were her strike force, not a blade she could decapitate herself with if she missed a move.

The Tech-Priest, his orders obeyed, bowed and left her office.

"I have a bad feeling for this detour..."Taylor whispered to herself. "I am going to distribute a few more pheromone-dispersers to my staff and the Sergeants of the 6th Company."

* * *

 **Sergeant Gavreel Forcas**

Gavreel had not shared his opinion with the guardsmen in the lander with him, but it was a pleasure to be on a flyer like this with such a reasonable speed. During his time with the First Legion, too often he had been part of the waves sent by drop-pod planetside to take down strategic locations before the main body of Astartes troops landed. These experiences were not enjoyable. Drop-pods had been built to deliver Astartes more or less uninjured on the ground, but even for a veteran of the Emperor's elite, there could be disorientation and problems. The orbital-ground insertions with Thunderhawks or Stormbirds were more comfortable...an advantage more than compensated by the fact these flyers were big enough to be targeted by the anti-air defences of a planet with average chances of success. As such, Astartes pilots of Thunderhawks tended to take evasion courses which were at the very limits of the reasonable.

Today no one was shooting on their orbital-ground transport and the guardsmen had left him the equivalent of three seats to seat his transhuman body. It was strangely calm and boring...although in this galaxy a lot of things could change without warning. This was why he had chosen to accompany the Major and the rest of the delegation on the ground. The transport they were stuck in for this expedition was not going anywhere, and at least Chimera manoeuvres and meeting the local dignitaries was more interesting than playing – and cheating – at card games.

The descent was peaceful and long, as they were in a Guard transport which was never going to reach the same speeds as a Legion armed flyer. And when the metallic doors opened to reveal outside, there was only one good remark he could make...

"Thanks Terra we have not to defend this spaceport."

To his right, there were the mountains, maybe twelve-fourteen kilometres away. To his left, there were the swamps. The green region was maybe three or four kilometres away. The Mechanicus had chosen one of the rare locations where solid infrastructure was not going to sink under the ground or be destroyed by a rock avalanche, and Gavreel wasn't going to fault them for that.

But in return, it meant the deployment of the Guard companies which had been chosen to land planetside were in the open. There were no major or minor defences. Andes Primus was a fifth-class world and the architects who had worked long ago on this terrain had clearly abandoned the job after the basics, thinking wisely that if someone made a large-scale colonisation effort, he or she would pay the bill for the construction.

Thus the Andes spaceport had been prepared with the usual hard surface to protect the earth from the fumes and flames of shuttles, a control tower, several barracks and a few buildings to repair the engines which were damaged...and it stopped there.

"Corporal, contact your Captain and tell him I recommend he secures the perimeter from the west," the local welcoming column had come from the east, so this direction had to be safe. He continued to speak to the men advancing behind him nonetheless. "I know we have no enemies, but it never hurt to prepare some basic precautions. Razorwire, pit-traps, a few mines and some sand bags for cover never hurt, at worse we will use it for the Chimera manoeuvres."

"At once, Lord Astartes," the man saluted deeply before running to his vox-operator. Gavreel did his best not to wince, especially as he had not his helmet on. The veneration in the eyes and expressions of the humans around him was something that was severely disturbing for him. Astartes had been respected during the Great Crusade, but the adoration directed at him was mostly seen when non-augmented men and women met the Primarchs or the Emperor, beloved by all.

How badly had the Imperium been threatened for the last millennia in order to present the Astartes as half-gods and semi-divine warriors?

"The Wuhanese refuse to help us secure the perimeter," informed him another Corporal after fifteen minutes where about one hundred Fay soldiers used the basic tools of their packs to create a position which was a bit less exposed than the current security nightmare.

The glare the man sent at the light blue uniforms standing idly in the deployment zone was not friendly.

"They are the 9th Company of the Wuhan 23rd, right?" The former Dark Angel Legionary asked rhetorically. "Let them laugh while they can. You and your men are accomplishing duties which are incredibly important the moment you are on the ground. Entire armies have been exterminated because they were overconfident and failed to secure their landing zone. I don't think it will happen on Andes Primus, but frankly the Enemy, Traitor or Xenos, is not going to be polite and send you an invitation before he attacks. The more you sweat and dig for your defences, the less you will bleed when battle is joined."

"Yes, my Lord!"

It took two hours and a half before the Andes force arrived to the spaceport. Two hours and a half Gavreel, the 6th Company of the Fay 20th and the 2nd Company of the Andes 10th used to provide the landing zone with some rudimentary defences. It went without saying the result of their work would have caused an Imperial Fist Legionary to laugh to death. That said, for people who had not any siege machines or any engineering experts, the men and the women who worked under his eyes were giving a good performance.

It helped that despite the humidity, Taylor Hebert directed the glutton-mosquitoes and other inimical insects away. By a strange coincidence, the lazy and smirking Wuhanese guardsmen were not protected at all by the growing clouds of swamp-bugs.

But then the cogboys who had called Wuhan were there, and the guardsmen abandoned their current duties – save a few platoons mounting guard – to assemble in orderly fashion in front of the newcomers. Once the two dozen machines of the Mechanicus of Andes –including a very impressive tank – had stopped, the Ulm horse-mounted regiment arrived.

It was in all honesty pathetic, by the sword of the Primarch.

"How many kilometres did they ride, to look like this?" He heard one of the Andes 10th officers grumble with his transhuman ears.

The white-brown – at least he thought it was a white-brown uniform – was looking awful on hundreds of these pseudo-soldiers. The horses looked in bad health. It was nothing compared to the state of exhaustion their masters showed.

"And that is why you don't put a cavalry regiment on a swamp-covered world…"

What madness had taken Generals or higher authorities to garrison a regiment like this on Andes Primus? Dragoons may have been understandable, these units were trained to fight dismounted and had sometimes training for dangerous worlds. But this column of ill soldiers about to faint or worse had not these skills…

His personal vox clicked and Gavreel put his helmet on in a hurry. With the noise the companies were doing, communication was not going to be easy if spoke while the surrounding soldiers around him babbled.

It was the voice of Taylor Hebert which arrived on his personal comm after the usual verifications.

"Sergeant Forcas, receiving."

"Sergeant, we have a problem. The glutton-mosquitoes at the limit of my control range have noticed a xenos about seven hundred metres in the swamps."

Gavreel tried not to bark orders immediately, remembering he was in the middle of soldiers who were certainly not in defensive position and had their eyes fixed on the Ulm efforts to walk and ride.

"What sort of xenos are we talking about?"

"They wear green armour with camouflage, are extremely thin and have long ears..."

The survivor of Caliban did not need more to recognise the nature of the threat.

"Eldar. The xenos are eldars. Sound the alert and order everyone to take defensive positions..."

A tank-shape emerged from the swamps with a speed which should have been impossible for any ground vehicle, an explosion devastated the left wing of the Wuhan 23rd and one moment later, they were fighting for their lives.

* * *

 **Seer Maea Teallysis**

By the bloody hands of Khaine, Maea wondered more and more if the warriors of Biel-Tan were not irremediably lost on the Path of War.

The massacre of the first Mon-keigh force had been filled with red and violence for no good reason she could discern. When the last of the lesser species individuals had been slain, she had wondered how much Farseer Kaeran had diverted their path to satisfy his warriors bloodlust.

The answer, the young Seer thought after they had executed two other groups of similar size, was likely 'many steps'.

It shouldn't be possible. By their very nature, the masks of the Path every Asuryani wore were muting their most powerful emotions and feelings, least they doomed themselves like their ancestors had fallen thousands of cycles ago.

But the Biel-Tan warriors evidently were clearly enjoying the killing of the Mon-Keigh. And the Farseer, like the Exarch, seemed spiritually content to let his Dire Avengers and other Warrior Aspects unleash their fury on the primitive and barbaric swamp inhabitants.

Three dawns ago, she had stopped being worried by it. Maea was honestly worried by the entire situation and this for dark reasons.

The prime concern was one brought by the eldest and most experienced Ranger of her escort, Gilfarian. According to his wise councel, their combined force was expending ammunition for their long-range weapons too quickly against what were clearly Mon-keigh of no military value. Even Yvraine Kaydinn, now no longer following the rest of the Farseer-led force, had to agree on this point.

The second concern came from her own mind. After the first massacre, the visions she experienced after each throw of the runes were beginning to be clearer and sinister. Sometimes, Maea saw mountains of corpses of Asuryani and Mon-keigh together. Often, there were explosions and she saw a particular member of her escort blown apart. And a minority made her shiver, for she saw clouds of insects covering earth, sky and water by the billions before devouring all life.

The third concern had been voiced by several of the Rangers the moment the disgracious flying machines of the Mon-keigh were sighted. The Asuryani had no spaceships in orbit of this planet, and quite likely it would be hundreds of cycles before there was one. As such, neither Malan'tai nor Biel-Tan could hold the planet in the case the Howling Banshees, the Dire Avenger, the Rangers and the Fire Dragons wiped out the lesser race plaguing the putrid atmosphere of what should have been a verdant Maiden World.

It was nothing against her fourth concern. Because while knowing their liberation of this Maiden World would be ephemeral and futile missed a vital issue. They had to defeat the army assembling in front of their eyes.

"They are so many..." murmured Yvraine. Her mask removed, the young Dire Avenger had an expression of awe on her visage and her dusk eyes had narrowed in concentration.

"This is a small force, by Mon-keigh standards," replied Gilfarian and his words broke no contradiction. "They are not here to stay."

"They are building defences around their ugly and noisy flyers," the Biel-Tan Dire Avenger countered.

"A small precaution because their landing ground is too exposed. They are not marching away or building a great camp for the night. They don't have that many supplies too."

Maea eyes however, watched with incredulity dozens of the Mon-keigh hurting the earth with their impure black tools. It had not been that long since her last mission, and the young Seer recognised the uniforms.

"What are they doing here?" Maea wondered in a half-murmur. "None of my visions indicated they should be here..."

Gilfarian noticed what the cause of consternation before the rest of her escort.

"These Mon-keigh have the same colours as the ones which were fighting the greenskins."

"Why should we care?" Yvraine demanded impatiently. "Just because the Mon-keigh were capable to beat these war-loving idiots does not mean..."

"These Mon-keigh are going to fight," interrupted one of the other Rangers. "They won't try to withdraw before the heart of their army is destroyed."

"And we don't have a host of Aspect Warriors..."

Maea was about to urge for more caution and a straight plan of regular ambushes to decrease the Mon-keigh great numbers when Farseer Kaeran used his mastery of the Path of the Seer and his powers to relay his orders.

' _I have localised Elsar'bryn in this enemy's army. With the Howling Banshee squad as support, I will recover it. Exarch Da'ioc, you and your Dire Avengers will engage the gene-enhanced brute and the main Mon-keigh formation. Striking Scorpions, execute flank attacks to destabilise this vermin. Fire Dragons, incinerate their heavy weapons and armour. Dark Reapers and Falcon crews, yours is the long-range fire. Rangers and Seer, you have the order to eliminate the leaders of this miserable race_.'

Maea Teallysis wanted to exclaim she was awe-struck by the arrogance and the straightforwardness of the Farseer...but she couldn't. In one series of order, the Biel-Tan Asuryani lost on the Path of the Seer had confirmed all her worst fears. Attacking directly a Mon-keigh camp where for each Aspect Warrior they were likely one hundred enemies was not risky: it was sheer folly. If the Mon-keigh didn't break in the first seconds, their force was going to take horrible casualties.

By Isha, what sort of soul-induced madness had the self-proclaimed 'Sunsight' seen in his visions to make this plan?

"What is your will, my Seer?" the tone of Gilfarian was cold and his intention clear. Maea grimaced, before placing her mask on her visage as the Falcon grav-tanks accelerated to get out of the swamp and fire at the unsuspecting Mon-keigh.

' _IN THE NAME OF KAELA MENSHA KHAINE, ATTACK_!'

The psychic command was so powerful for a moment her thoughts weren't hers and determination that wasn't hers was in her head and her heart.

"Stay at the limit of the swamp and use your skills to stay out of the Mon-keigh range..."

It didn't sound brilliant, and Maea was not an expert in war operations, but it was the only reasonable option she had in mind. The Banshees had already crossed half of the distance separating them from the Mon-keigh army, the Falcon grav-tanks had begun to fire and the rest of the Asuryani which were not engaged were soon going to be.

The riposte of the enemy shocked her by its rapidity and scale. Tank shells and hundreds of lasers fired before Kaeran managed to make contact with the first lines. There was a psychic agitation sent by the Farseer and hundreds of Mon-keigh were thrown off the poor animals they were torturing and mounting.

One Banshee fell as they reached the enemy lines. The black giant, the creature the Mon-keigh called 'Space Marine', narrowly avoided her scream before striking her with a crude long blade.

"Kill the gene-enhanced warrior before..." She stopped her order before the end.

The first actions were getting more difficult to perceive, and the Mon-keigh in the rear were almost invisible. Tens of thousands local insects were flying like angry clouds towards the battleground chosen by the Farseer, hampering the vision of her rangers and making long-range support completely useless.

And then the Falcon grav-tank in the central position blew up in a spectacular pyre of black and red.

"How in the name of Cegorach?"

"We had the holo-fields activated! This is..."

"Close in! Close in before they kill us all!"

* * *

 **Major Taylor Hebert**

She didn't know why she hadn't arrived to this conclusion before, but Taylor was beginning to think a fairy of ill-luck had cursed at her birth.

Seriously, how many heroes at the start of their career faced a villain able to transform himself in a dragon on their first night out? And it hadn't stopped there, oh no. First attempt to rob a bank, and instead of two or three Wards, they had been greeted by nearly the entire roster of junior superheroes. And of course just after a war against the ABB, Leviathan had chosen this moment to attack Brockton Bay. The rest of the events which had led to the disastrous fiasco of New Delhi against Behemoth was barely worth mentioning, truly.

But in a new galaxy, Weaver might have prayed the 'God-Emperor' and whatever being ruled her fate to visit one planet or two without everything exploding around her and the only solution was to draw chainswords and lasguns before exterminating whatever enemy had crawled out of nowhere.

Fay. Wuhan. Andes.

One could have been an unfortunate incident. Two could be a huge and unlikely coincidence. Three?

Three was enemy action and the sign that someone, somewhere, had decided to make her life a succession of battles and misery. How exactly it was possible Taylor had no idea, but it could wait until the end of this fight.

Because clearly, after the orks, the Tarellians, the Necrons, the pretender-Inquisitors and the rest of the opposition she had met on the visit of the Civilised World and the Hive World, there was one more xenos species which had to be taught what a bad idea it was to face the Fay 20th and her bugs.

"Activate the pheromone-dispersers," the parahuman screamed to Wei, Alya and the rest of her staff once the Astartes had identified their opponents as 'eldars'. "NOW! Chimera concentrate on the tanks and the long-range support of these xenos. Infantry, take cover and stop their runners to come to close range!"

The next orders she gave were to the supporting artillery as she raised the beginning of a glutton-mosquito wall to screw with the enemy visibility.

But the 'eldars' attacked with a celerity which left her open-mouthed for two seconds. It was possible she hadn't examined the outer left of the spaceport metre by metre, but there had to be at least a full kilometre between the swamp and her position, if not more. Gavreel Forcas may have ran this distance in a good two minutes.

The aliens did it in less than ninety seconds.

And just as the first blades sung and the screams of agony began, there was a sort of disorientation effect and in one second, the horses-zebras of the Ulm regiment went completely crazy, killing discipline and order faster than a volley of lasguns.

"Commissar !" She screamed on Zuhev frequency. "I need someone to put the Ulm-Andes force in order!"

"Give me a minute and they will charge the xenos with the God-Emperor's name on their lips!"

Every other time, Taylor would have felt guilty to sick what was in effect the executioner-in-chief of her regiment on exhausted men, but their panic was contagious and dangerous. In mere seconds, their entire line was collapsing and she couldn't afford that.

Fortunately, the new enemy was lightly armoured. Strictly limited to cloak them in clouds of glutton-mosquitoes and about two hundred black razorbeetles, the bug-controller had already killed seven of the white lithe beings with their long guns.

Fortunately, because their weapons were destruction incarnate. Each time they shot a guardsman, it was like the soldiers of the Imperial Guard were sliced to the molecular level with lethal precision. Arms, legs, throats and chests were pulverised in bloody mists in the blink of an eye.

"What are you doing with your Chimera cannons?" She shouted to two Sergeants, materialising mosquito-clones in their turrets. "There are only two enemy tanks! Finish them!"

"They are generating quantities of illusions, Major!" The reply came after she killed two of the dark green xenos warriors.

Shit, the decoys and the electronic warfare didn't work on her since she had bugs directly on top of them, but her gunners had not that advantage.

"Then saturate the battlefield on the coordinates I'm going to tell you..."

Ten seconds after her adjustment, the left eldar vehicle burst in flames, but it was not one of her Chimera which had killed it, it was the big battle-tanks of the Andes Mechanicus seventy meters. Obviously the cogboys had been listening on her frequency...

"Major!"

The warning from one of the 6th Company Corporals was late, as she had already seen the problem. Jumping an height and a length which would have made an Olympic athlete jealous for the rest of his life, one the white-coloured xenos with the ugly mask and a red lion-like mane charged her like like a supersonic rocket.

Having seen the effect of their screeches from afar – able to kill all her bugs and plenty of front-line warriors – the last razorbeetles she had kept in reserve flew at her throat before she landed.

It was one second too late. The black insects swarmed and devoured her opponent but not fast enough: the diminished sound blast projected her several metres away and she suddenly was very glad to have put her ear protections before the first shot was fired.

Standing up with her mouth tasting her own blood was not a pleasant experience. Especially as she still had to maintain her multi-tasking with the clouds of bugs arriving attracted by the pheromones. And with no one having trained for these conditions or for that matter, thought there was going to be a battle today, the bloodbath had long abandoned anything which could be considered orderly. They were winning, half of the eldars were lying dead on the ground. But the number of men and women dead was nightmarish and more died every second.

She raised her eyes towards the figure on the tank turret she was suddenly next to, and for a moment the Brockton Bay parahuman thought she was finally hallucinating.

"Dragon?" Taylor managed to articulate. It was impossible, no? Dragon, like all heroes and villains of Earth Bet, couldn't be here. Surviving New Delhi was already unlikely, but finding her way to a new galaxy...

"Skitter or is it Weaver now?" replied the Guild heroine. "I should have known you were here the moment I saw the glutton-mosquitoes behave differently."

The conversation was urgently stopped there as a dozen Wuhanese guardsmen were torn apart by green lightning and an eldar wearing outrageously decorated red robes.

" _Elsar'bryn_ , give it to me Mon-keigh!"

So they could understand human language...and yet they wanted to massacre them anyway? Moreover...had the alien just tried to insult her by calling her a monkey?

"I am going to feed you my swarm insect by insect," Taylor snarled back and as she ordered a true storm of glutton-mosquitoes to descend upon him, she was almost amused to listen Dragon groaning.

"I hope this galaxy is more prepared than Brockton Bay..."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** As you can probably guess, in the next chapter, eldars and humans are not going to swear eternal friendship...

More links for support or if you want to comment on the Weaver Option:

P a treon: ww w. p a treon Antony444

Alternate History page: www .alternatehistory forum/ threads/ the-weaver-option-a-warhammer-40000-crossover.395904/


	17. Sentinel 3-3 Blood and Delusion

**Sentinel 3.3**

 **Blood and Delusion**

 _Many eldars are insane, treacherous, arrogant, haughty, backstabbing addicts, bloodthirsty monsters and sometimes they have all of these traits in the same body at the same time._

 _The Biel-Tan eldars are admittedly worse._

 _They are delusional._

 _I don't think there is a single living being who can remembers the moment these warmonger long-ears began their insane crusade to reconquer the galaxy. It was in all likelihood millennia ago. The simple fact that the name 'Biel-Tan' apparently means 'Rebirth of the Ancient Days' in eldar tongue is a clear indicator how deeply the madness has sunk in their arrogant minds._

 _Think about it for one or two minutes. The Biel-Tan Farseers and their High Exarchs are trying to conquer the galaxy with a few allies and their own resources, a task the God-Emperor only managed with hundreds of thousands Astartes and countless billions men of the Imperial Army. And His Most Holy Majesty needed two hundreds standard years to achieve this exploit, at a point of history where human petty kingdoms and commonwealths were spread all over the stars._

 _Now no proper census is available for Biel-Tan, but various sources and a huge dose of speculation gave me a number of nine billion eldars living in the Biel-Tan Craftworld. Not nine billion soldiers; nine billion eldars in total. Artists, farmers, void-crews, warriors, revenant constructs and xenos sorcerers are all included in this number._

 _I think it is completely safe to say waging a galactic-spanning crusade with such an insignificant population base is madness._

 _Somehow, it didn't stop the Biel-Tan eldars to try._

 _There had to be sacrifices, of course. Levels of militarisation on this Craftworld, already largely above average for the Eldar race, went completely out of control. Thanks to their techno-sorcery and mastery of forbidden powers, the warmongers could put under arms a far greater proportion of their population than most Imperium worlds would have tolerated._

 _For all their declarations their people were free to pursue whatever Path they wanted, Biel-Tan equivalent of our Generals gave little choice to their subordinates. Biel-Tan needed Aspect Warriors and there weren't enough volunteers to sustain wars against orks, 'mon-keigh' and other xenos species._

 _With their new edicts and impossibly harsh measures, Biel-Tan mustered new armies. The consequences on their civilian society were nothing short of horrific. By M35, the conscription rate of the Biel-Tan population had reached forty-eight percent. It was also worth noting that according to Inquisition agents, the Craftworld had in the last five centuries absorbed six Exodite planetary forces and three minor Craftworlds on the edge of annihilation, and despite these reinforcements, Biel-Tan population never increased._

 _Forty-eight percent might not seem too high from the perspective of a non-initiated. After all, famous worlds like Cadia or Catachan have far higher recruitment levels. But the Shock Armies guarding the Eye of Terror have a dedicated Forge-World to equip them and several Agri-Worlds to feed them. Death Worlds are also by sheer necessity arming everyone the moment you're in age to walk; you won't survive to adulthood otherwise._

 _Biel-Tan had not hundreds of planets to support its efforts. The Aspect Warriors had to be fed, their armours repaired, warships had to be built and portals of the labyrinth-Webway had to be monitored. The other Craftworlds were shaking their heads and finding excuses to not participate when they discovered the atrocious price demanded by this war without end._

 _Biel-Tan culture grew more intolerant than ever. Any Maiden World discovered, no matter its state and history, was 'liberated' by force of arms. In most cases, the eldars wilfully ignored they had not set a foot on this planet for tens of thousands years and given their depleted resources, it would be thousands more before they had the capability to establish a colony there._

 _But Biel-Tan's delusions didn't stop there. In the case an Imperial or Ork counterattack arrived to conquer a second time the Maiden World, then these worlds would be defended with the might of the might of the Tempest of Blades, Biel-Tan's elite army. The Farseers of the Craftworld went also to ridiculous heights if they judged Eldar lives had to be saved or avenged. Where other eldars cut their losses and waited several centuries before another move, the Biel-Tan warriors struck fast and rarely withdrew before their objective was reached._

 _This is why Biel-Tan never forgot or forgave the beating they received on Andes Primus._

 _I would love to say that if given the benefits of hindsight, the long-ears would have chosen a totally different course but Eldar arrogance is something difficult to exaggerate and overcome..._

Extract from _Memories of the Fay 20_ _th_ _and the 35_ _th_ _Millennium_ by Wei Cao

* * *

" _Unless you're an ork, it is not natural to want another round with the Swarm. That the eldars have not understood this prove beyond doubt they are not fit to rule this galaxy..._ " anonymous officer of the Imperial Guard.

" _I deeply regretted Farseer Kaeran and his friends did not survive these battles. I would have loved killing them myself_ ," attributed to Farseer Eldrad Ulthran of Ulthwé, M36.

" _They came at us, the xenos, under clouds of glutton-mosquitoes. We bled and we held the line_ ," anonymous Andes soldier.

* * *

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Smilodon Trench Sub-Sector**

 **Andes System**

 **Andes I**

 **7.442.289M35**

Thought for the day: A wise man learns from the death of others.

 **Trooper Heinz Peter**

For the first time in several years, Heinz had not been bored this morning when he woke up. The sheer boredom everyone took granted at Fort Lama had been broken. The regiment was deploying at the spaceport; not for a miraculous travel off-world but there were rumours a good parade and presentation could not hurt. So he had brushed, fed and prepared his horse twice the time he stayed in the stable-warehouse on a normal day and ensured his white uniform had none of the holes and ugly stains.

They had ridden slowly in the warm and humid terrain next to the swamps. The officers had told them it was a way to atone for their laxity and their lack of motivation in the last years. At the end of the day a double-ration of low-grade amasec and some chore dispensations had been promised.

Instead they were now in the middle of the battle and they had not even the time to form for a charge.

Ten thousand beards and curses, they had not the time to receive any instruction whatsoever. Their vox devices had long been given to the cogboys, as the humidity and the damned insects made their machine-spirits too temperamental to use on day-per-day operations.

And now that they needed them, they didn't have them. One second they were waiting in parade formation, the next only his good reflexes had allowed him to jump as his old companion Arrow-Laser became mad.

Since the same thing had happened to nearly every rider of the regiment, Heinz knew this was not his fault. It was xenos sorcery, an abomination in the eyes of the God-Emperor. And the duties of a loyal Guardsman were extremely clear what was they supposed to do when faced with this sort of psyker-mind-boggling heresy.

A Commissar drew his chainsword and screamed the words confirming it.

"TAKE YOUR WEAPONS AND KILL THESE XENOS! FOR THE GOD-EMPEROR!"

"FOR THE GOD-EMPEROR!"

The rest was sheer madness and bloodbath. In groups of ten and twenty, the Ulm troopers ran to meet the xenos laspistols and shock-spears in hand. Hundreds had been wounded by a fall from their horses and some were agonising under their dead mounts, legs broken. But they were still outnumbering the loathed xenos many, many times.

When they came into contact, the Commissar was decapitated before he had the time to make a single parry with his big chainsword and the ranks of the dismounted cavaliers were scythed down like they were nothing.

The xenos were just too fast and armed with awful weapons. With lightning-fast strikes of their swords, they cut plasteel like it didn't exist. Sentinels, Chimeras and various machines had their armours shredded in moves which shouldn't have been possible.

And they couldn't touch the xenos. They tried to throw their shock-spears or shoot them with their range weapons, but when you fired, the xenos were just too fast, too swift and plunged their bloody blades into the unguarded backs of another guardsman.

"Beware to your right!" Heinz threw himself against the ground and avoided being cut by, well something. It shimmered and disappeared before creating an explosion several metres behind him and creating a new explosion blood and human parts.

Heinz Peter tried to see the battlefield but it was impossible. There were hundreds of thousands glutton-mosquitoes descending to feast on the corpses and the clouds they formed made everything difficult to watch. For several seconds the Ulm trooper thought he saw the insects attack one of the xenos but it had to be an eye illusion, right?

Thoughts on this stopped however when another red-armoured xenos jumped over a burning Sentinel and began to use its super-flamer to kill dozens of soldiers in blue uniform. The heat, despite the distance, was like he had plunged his body in an inferno. He emptied his laspistol, trying to distract the xenos but the crimson armour shrugged without a scar the two shots which hit it.

"Damn it!"

Like him, dozens of troopers in blue, gray and green-uniformed guardsmen tried to stay at good distance, unable to charge when it would result in a horrific death in the flames.

And then everything changed. A new massive cloud of glutton-mosquitoes plunged deliberately towards the xenos and swarmed its flamer weapon. The enemy was so surprised his efforts to repulse the native insects were hazed and desperate. And then the weapon exploded, generating a shockwave which threw him to his knees several feet away and on top of several other groaning men.

But when he looked again, the xenos was missing a part of his arm, his armour was scorched, its blood was dirtying the soil of this planet...and Heinz couldn't see any xenos weapon anywhere.

"CHARGE!"

He would never know who had uttered the first scream, but by platoons they rushed to exploit this miraculous chance they had been offered. The red-armoured xenos threw a grenade which consumed more blue uniforms, but it didn't matter.

The Imperial Guard charged and the xenos was surrounded. Bayonets, shock-spears and chainsword found their mark and the creature fell under dozens of ferocious attacks. The xenos took a long time to die but with dozens of melee weapons they could hacker its treacherous meat all day if they had to.

"VICTORY!"

"VICTORY! FOR THE GOD-EMPEROR!"

Heinz reloaded his laspistol and seized a shock-spear from an immobile officer to replace his. For the first time, he felt he could survive this battle and it was _good_.

Weapons were raised to the sky. Platoon regrouped to unite in improvised companies. Commissars reformed the ranks and threw abandoned weapons to gunners out of ammunition. They were once again part of the Imperial Guard, men sworn to the God-Emperor and Holy Terra. And they were going to win.

Who knows, after this battle, maybe higher powers were going to decide they could get away from this swamp hellhole?

* * *

 **Seer Maea Teallysis**

This was not how the battle had been supposed to happen. Maea was a novice in the great battles fought on the Path of War, but she could tell that much.

But by the bones of Morai-Heg, there was no time to change their strategy now. Farseer Kaeran and nearly every Biel-Tan warrior had been breaking through the first lines of the Mon-keigh army when their first Falcon was torn apart. As staying where they waited was a good way to lose their life, they had to close in and find the slow and clumsy Mon-keigh at close distance.

It was going to be bloody. It was also going to favour their opponents, for at sword's range the lesser species were inferior but still able to inflict deadly injuries. But there wasn't another path she could see. The thunderous cannons of the Mon-keigh were bombarding the ground between the swamp and the battlefield. Their precision was pathetic, but there were hundreds of these smelly and ugly things. The Asuryani could dodge a lot of projectiles, but they couldn't evade them all. The insects were clouding everything, and a sharpshooter eldar could not shoot enemies with his eyes closed.

"For Asuryan and the swords of light!" Maea sang as she entered the melee. A simple combination of attacks, and the light ocean-clothed Mon-keigh facing her died, screams to their seer-corpse on their lips.

After training with the Rangers of her escort, it was easy to handle these weak opponents. Except there were hundreds of them coming from everywhere and she had not eyes to see behind her back. Maea jumped on one of the black machines, slammed her staff against the head of the Mon-keigh piloting the machine, crushing it into pulp and poured her strength into a mid-level attack. Blue-red energy danced around her fingers, before she unleashed it against the column trying to encircle her, killing them all in one instant.

"The Mon-keigh warriors are brave but weak..." commented Gilfarian, jumping next to her.

"Thank Khaela Mensha Khaine for that!" the young Seer retorted. "If there were our equals..."

Maea did not have the breath to continue her judgement as a mass of the local insects swarmed her protector. Immediately she charged her powers and unleashed them for a new attack, annihilating thousands of the small creatures and forcing the rest to a hasty retreat.

"Something is controlling them..." grimaced her most experienced Ranger. "We need to retreat before..."

The swarm of insects came back, ten times larger and this time the power of the Sea of Souls she used was not enough. Maea had to shield herself and burn the very air surrounding her to kill the aggressive wildlife. But when the attack stopped after several breaths, Gilfarian was dead, his body being bitten and pierced by tens of thousands stings.

And as if it wasn't enough a Mon-keigh in a blood-soaked pale uniform crawled out of the machine and cut his throat.

"No!" She decapitated the treacherous Mon-keigh but it was too late. The only thing she could do for Gilfarian now was extracting his spirit stone, the very container of his soul protecting the Ranger from She-Who-Thirsts.

In the distance, a blue cloud rose and suddenly where the power of Farseer Kaeran could be felt, there was just a great void. The Biel-Tan leader was no more, and there were now so few eldar soul-flames shining in her senses she could count them with her two hands.

The Malan'tai Seer felt hate and it took many breaths to retake some measure of control, during which she slaughtered the animals who dared oppose the Eldar race. Watching the battlefield didn't allow her to see her Rangers; they were either dead or had managed to get out of here. Only Yvraine was fighting and dismembering the Mon-keigh ranks near her. Otherwise, there were many Asuryani armours lying dead and broken all over the battlefield...

"Yvraine! We need to retreat now!"

The Biel-Tan Dire Avenger nodded while executing a series of acrobatic jumps which should have been impossible, even for an eldar. The entire group of Mon-keigh trying to kill her fell to the ground, their legs and their heads cut with incredible precision.

"Farseer Kaeran should be recovering the Sword of Vaul!"

Maea shook her head as she felt one Biel-Tan warrior run away alone, avoiding the smelly and destructive bombardment of the lesser species' artillery.

"Farseer Kaeran is dead and we are going to share his fate if we stay here!"

More Mon-keigh warriors were coming from everywhere and Maea knew that there was no victory to be won against this sea of green, blue, grey and white. The green and the gray soldiers were the only battle-hardened troops, but there were so many Mon-keigh that their valour was a tertiary preoccupation at best.

Leading one of the contingents was a great red-robed figure. Its presence in the Sea was weak, understandable as these Mon-keigh fanatics were more machines than men. The massive cannon and the other weapons this Mon-keigh carried however...these were a problem. By the blue radiation and the condensers, Maea was ready to guess these were plasma weapons. Seer or not, she could not take more than one hit of those.

"FOR THE OMNISSIAH! KILL ALL THE XENOS!"

By the anvil of Vaul, why did the Mon-keigh believed screaming so loud in battle was necessary? The young Seer knew their ears were underdeveloped and inefficient compared to the noble eldar ears, but surely they had to understand they were making themselves deaf with that ruckus, no?

When the red-mechanical Mon-keigh shot the powerful plasma blast of his weapon at her, Maea had long anticipated his target and evaded it quite easily. A new effort and she sent ten blades dispersed on the battlefield right where the head and the heart should be, before ending the rest of the red-robed creatures. One of the projectiles disabled the fragile and obsolete Mon-keigh weapon, for the leader vanished in a blue explosion shortly after.

"They killed Magos Alpha-Karon, KILL THE XENOS...aarrgh..."

And then neither Maea nor Yvraine had any enemies to fight anymore. All the Mon-keigh had stopped rushing in, proving alas even their brutish minds could learn the rudiment of tactics – a feat they seemed to share with the odious greenskins.

There were thousands of them left. And Maea senses were not able to perceive another source of fighting on the battlefield. On the left the black 'Space-Marine' was staring at them. On the right, an incredible number of red robes cursed them with angry expressions.

But the worst part was over their heads. There had to be millions of insects buzzing there, flying in a formation incredibly threatening, waiting for the signal to begin the final attack.

Such a control was impossible for a Farseer and among the Chaos-corrupted creatures serving the Primordial Annihilator, there were few being able to boast they had these powers. But she wasn't feeling anything from the insects. There was no soul-based power and no ill-intent. Had she had not the proof in front of her eyes she would have said it was impossible...

A minor part of the swarm descended at good distance and shaped itself in a vaguely humanoid figure.

"Surrender or die," buzzed the insect-filled construct.

Maea gritted her teeth, and judging by her rigid stance, she knew Yvraine was sharing the same opinion. The Mon-keigh 'Imperium' was notorious for its hate of the Eldars and being taken prisoner rarely ended well.

She could not use her runes so watching the threads of the future was going to be limited. The young Seer breathed loudly and channelled internally for an infinitesimal cycle power internally.

The result was dark and unpromising. There were over six hundred paths for her as she stood. Only one saw her see a new cycle on this bloody-soaked ground. The rest...Maea had no wish to be devoured by insects until her bones remained. Worse, their death was followed in numerous cases by the death of their souls as the Mon-keigh destroyed their spirit stones.

Sword of Vaul or not, orders or not, she didn't want to be devoured by She-Who-Thirsts.

"We surrender," she spoke in the brutish language of the Mon-keigh. Yvraine repeated the same words next to her. Their weapons were placed on the ground. The Mon-keigh army rushed at them and a loud protest escaped her lips as her arms were bound behind her back.

Unfortunately, this was just the first of a long list of humiliation. Dirt and foam were thrown on her armour. Her helmet was ripped off by several of the red-robed primitives. And she screamed as a Mon-keigh twisted her ears.

"Hey guys, the ears aren't just for show!"

Just for this her vengeance was going to be terrible. Maea swore this.

The next moment a new red-robed creature placed a gas-filled metallic device on her visage and she lost consciousness.

* * *

 **Tech-Priest Dragon Richter**

The day was far, far more animated than in her worst nightmares.

"I am going to feed you my swarm insect by insect!" Taylor Hebert snarled and Dragon didn't need to know the bug-controller very well to know this was anything but an empty threat.

The AI groaned.

"I hope this galaxy is more prepared than Brockton Bay..." By the Endbringers, would it be a miracle to demand that people stopped to antagonise the former supervillain? By their nature, parahumans were unlikely to deescalate when battle was joined, but Skitter had already been a case by herself when she reigned at Brockton Bay and unfortunately rebranding her Weaver had not changed this aspect of her personality.

The alien was dead. Oh, the non-human being was breathing now, but he was dead. He just had to acknowledge his soon-to-come and very unpleasant demise.

"Give me the Sword of Vaul!"

For the record, it was an extremely bad idea to order this member of the Undersiders something she didn't want to do.

The attack came at a tremendous speed. What had to be hundreds of thousands glutton-mosquitoes surged forwards in a six-prong attack. The alien was quick and manipulated something Myrddin would have happily categorised as magic.

Thousands of insects struck nothing and thousands more fell dead in a black mist.

It wasn't enough.

Taylor Hebert had managed to kill Alexandria, heroine of the Triumvirate. And Alexandria was a parahuman who was supposed to be nearly invincible. This long-eared creature was just not in the same category, and to make matters worse Weaver was flying some sort of dangerous scarab under the cover of thousands glutton-mosquitoes.

The first clue their opponent had a clue he was totally outmatched was when the arm holding his device-sceptre exploded in a shower of blood. One new column of insects was avoided like the eldar had known it was coming.

Unfortunately for the alien, the next seven attacks swarming his feet were unblockable. The 'eldar' being hit the ground in a loud thud and was instantly swarmed by tens of thousands Andes insects, a fate Dragon really wished to no one.

"You want my sword?" Dragon had heard in several occasions the voice of Taylor Hebert to know she was furious. "You can take it over my dead body."

The former supervillain drew a well-decorated blade from her side and impaled her opponent in the guts with it.

Dragon had expected a new river of blood or another gory spectacle. The probability of more screams as the alien was devoured by insects was not null. But not one of these things happened.

The moment the sword was imbedded in the flesh of Weaver's enemy, there was an explosion of unnatural energy and the entire body of the non-human was transformed into a sort of crystal construct, which exploded into thousands of shards the next second.

It was so beautiful and unexpected Dragon failed to order the Tech-Priest inside the Karon tank the order to place another shell in the cannon. For the next instants, it was like a mini-rain of diamonds had graced this dreary battlefield by its august presence.

It went without saying it was a complete violation of the law of physics. What sort of galaxy had she arrived to?

But the supernatural stuff was not over. The metal – or was it crystal? – of the sword pulsed in a white-blue colour and at a speed too formidable to be measured everything except the handle of the sword became a storm of crystal. The three aliens in her range had not the time to scream. They had not the time to flee. They just...disappeared in a rain of multicoloured crystals.

And the next second the sword was whole again, with only the luminescent crystals as proof the entire event had not been a massive hallucination.

"Wow," exclaimed Taylor. Dragon felt somewhat reassured it had come as a surprise to her too...before realising the bug-mistress had just been handed the equivalent of a nuclear weapon.

After this battle, she was going to find a corner to mourn in peace. Her sanity – or what was left of it after this dreadful year – deserved it.

Returning her attention to the battle, it seemed it was almost over. The swarm moved to destroy the last alien warriors and those enemies who had a functioning brain realised their chances of victory were infinitesimal. Their tanks had all been destroyed, they had no artillery support, their company had been decimated and their leadership was gone.

Three or four recognised it and tried to flee, but the race of two aliens was stopped forever by the massive 'Space Marine' who had come with their visitors. Dragon grimaced by reflex when she saw the massive black fist crush the human-sized skull like a rotten fruit. She didn't like these aliens, but it was a very unpleasant way to die...though suffocation and being devoured by insects easily beat it.

A normal human would have no chance to emerge alive. As it was, the aliens were so fast that one managed to slalom between the hundreds of bayonets, laser fire, explosive shells and other melee and distant weapons before disappearing in the fetid green landscape of the Andes swamp.

"Are there more enemies about to provide more animation today?" She demanded while leaving the turret of the tank and trying her best not to show her disarray. Just what she needed: plenty of bloodthirsty enemies and she had none of her dragon armours ready to counter the serious threats.

"We've just captured the last two xenos warriors," Weaver rolled her shoulders while gathering in her hands a full hand of her dangerous scarabs. "I can't see other enemies around the spaceport."

It wasn't extremely reassuring. On the other hand, if their enemies had more reinforcements on hand, surely they would have used them directly in the first minutes of the battle. The aliens had been outnumbered massively by the human soldiers. And yet they had attacked anyway...of course if there had been no bug-controller parahumans to help them, the outcome may have been very different.

"I'm going to call another company to come planet-side to fortify the spaceport anyway," said the young woman and Dragon felt a pinch of guilt because the other parahuman looked terribly young for her age after she sheathed her sword and removed her helmet. "We need..."

Whatever suggestions or tactical possibilities might have been announced after that, they were lost as a dark blue-haired woman took her in her arms.

"You saved us, Major!"

And then what happened was absolutely unprofessional as the woman with an Asiatic appearance delivered a long and passionate kiss to Taylor Hebert, who didn't look like she made a lot of effort to struggle and stop the moment.

Dragon was in a mood to giggle before realising she had the means to record both the audio and the video of this moment.

"Oh my dear, you have given me so much blackmail points..."

* * *

 **Major Taylor Hebert**

"Not a word," Taylor warned Captain Sachaev Eldyev of the 6th Company.

"My lips are sealed," replied the brown-haired officer with a large smile. Taylor sighed. The smiles around her were so large she had no doubt the men and women in high orbit would know within minutes Wei and she had shared a kiss.

And now that she looked around, Dragon had also an expression which was far too gleeful to be honest.

What madness had seized her to kiss back? Right now she was going to say think the mint taste of Wei's lips. She shook her head to focus on more important subjects. She was a Major of the Imperial Guard. They had just fought a battle and besides, she was attracted to boys, not girls.

Taylor ignored the loud voice in her head telling her to begin a second kissing session and stared sufficiently long at her subordinate for him to lose his smile.

"What are our losses?" The question forced Sachaev to give her a far darker expression instead of an amused smile.

"Sixth Company has lost seventy-four men, Major, and five more are in such state I don't have a lot of hope the medics will be able to save them." The Captain gave her a very disturbed look. "If I had not seen what these freaking xenos were able to do to our men and Chimeras, I would have not believed the reports. Their blades are cutting plasteel like it doesn't exist and their techno-sorcery put out of service nearly all the auspexes and vox communications for ten minutes."

Captain Sachaev Eldyev looked in the direction where the corpses were examined and prepared for funeral ceremonies before resuming his report.

"Overall we were lucky but as I say, seventy-nine men will never fight on the frontlines anymore. We have around thirty wounded to diverse degrees but in a week they will likely have all recovered for active service. The losses in equipment are seven Tauros, one Sentinel and three Chimeras. The Tech-Priests have not made their recommendations known yet, but I don't think they will be able to convince the machine spirits to repair this kind of damage."

Taylor was forced to nod in approbation. The eldars – the name of this long-eared and murderous species – had technology which even on Earth Bet would have astonished expert Tinkers. They had swords capable to cut plasteel and military-grade alloys. They had furtive systems that made them quasi-invisible until they were on top of you. They had some sort of projectors allowing to spread hundreds of false images on the battlefield and force the defenders to pour precious ammunition on false targets.

The only saving grace apparently was that the xenos had not built their super-technology to counter her insect-based arsenal. Taylor would love to say they had learned the lesson, but between the glutton-mosquitoes, the razorbeetles and the combined answer of the regiments present on-site, the eldar company had been wiped out.

"I will speak with the Colonel and see if we can send you one or two platoons from the other companies to replace your dead. How many soldiers have the other regiments lost?" The insect-controlling parahuman asked the remaining members.

"Will I get a kiss if my report is good?" answered teasingly Alya Sevrov. Taylor sent her subordinate her most threatening glare. She had a feeling she was going to do it a lot once they returned to their troop transport. Worse, it didn't look it had a lot of effect if the whispers and the chuckling were any indication.

"Apart from us, the Andes troops are the ones who have suffered the least," commented the swordswoman once they had finished mocking her. "Their artillery training kicked in the moment they saw the xenos coming and they provided accurate artillery fire after reforming their lines. They lost ninety men in the first ten minutes due to the sheer surprise of the attack, but overall their 2nd Company is still in fighting condition if the eldars decide to come back for a second round."

"And they have the chance to be in their home system," intervened Lieutenant Vladisluvius Arav. "I don't doubt the local Governor will accept to send new recruits to fill their losses."

As the Andes regiment was the smallest regiment of the four which had participated in this battle, there was a good chance this prognostic was correct.

"And the Wuhan and Ulm guardsmen?"

There was no way this was going to be good. For one, those two regiments had provided the bulk of the army gathered at the spaceport. They had also been the one with the least battle-experience. And finally, she had seen the xenos massacre them like it was child's play.

"We have the final numbers for the Wuhan 23rd," admitted Corporal Egor Artyomiv, her heavy weapon expert. "Their 9th Company has been butchered. They deployed close to one thousand and five hundred men for this expedition, but we have already confirmation close to six hundred and twenty have been killed and they have several dozen men who will need Mechanicus replacement limbs if they want to continue their service in the Guard."

"This is horrible," and she meant it. "They have lost more than a third of their strength in less than an hour."

"Most of their officers are gone too," added Wei. Taylor decided deliberately to watch the battlefield instead of her lips or her visage. "Their Captain and all his staff were slaughtered by the high feathered leader who tried to challenge you in duel. Many Lieutenants were killed trying to rally the troops and the xenos."

"I think Colonel Ta will decide to dissolve the company and spread the survivors thorough the rest of his regiment," Sachaev Eldyev affirmed. "Maybe it will encourage the Wuhanese to take their training seriously in the next days..."

"One can only hope..."

"What is the situation of the Ulm Light Cavalry 2nd?"

"Well, first I think we can remove the 'cavalry' part of their name," any other time it would have sounded like a bad joke, but Lieutenant Arav was grimacing. "I don't know what these damned xenos have done to their horses," in her opinion they looked more like weird zebras, "but by the Golden Throne it was fiendishly effective. Close to ninety-six percent of the animals went mad right after the first shot was fired and the ones which didn't were killed in the first counter-charges. Neither the cavaliers nor the Tech-Priests have a single idea to heal whatever witchery was done to their brains. Unless it stops in a few hours, we will have no solution but to slaughter the horses."

"Commissar Zuhev, your opinion?" As always the discipline-executioner officer was standing like a dark shadow, alone but vigilant. For the first time since her arrival on Fay, he had no new scars and battle souvenirs to show on his face.

"These horses have been tainted by the sorcery of the xenos," said their highest-ranked Commissariat representative. "While it is exemplary to not sacrifice a worthwhile resource, the horses have just been used as a weapon against the men of the Imperial Guard. Should the perfidious long-ears attack again, they would present an unacceptable problem. The enemies of the God-Emperor are treacherous by nature, and they won't hesitate using a second time a tactic which has worked in a previous battle."

Taylor seized a water container and emptied it slowly. In months before, she would have refused to kill so many animals. It was obviously not the horse-zebra's faults they were scared by whatever the eldars had done to them. But a horse in this climate was a drain on resources, more specifically in food and water. In space, it would be worse for the space aboard any orbit-ground transport was limited and thus precious. After the battle, nearly every horse had refused to be mounted by humans.

As much as she wanted to avoid it, the animals had just stopped being useful. And if they were not an asset, it stood to reason they were a danger and had to be put down.

"See the opinion of the Ulm officers and their Commissars," Weaver ordered after a few seconds of reflexion. "If they can't be ridden anymore, their place isn't in the Imperial Guard." Zuhev saluted and marched north to see to this. He was not a man to waste his time making small time.

"You have not given me the Ulm casualties."

"Apologies, Major. We have only incomplete estimations, but of the seven thousand and two hundred which were here to welcome us, nearly two thousand are dead and over six or seven hundred are seriously injured. A lot of their wounds are due to the fall from their horses when the animal panic spread uncontrollably in the ranks. Colonel Mack is unconscious but the medics think he will recover in a few hours. His second is dead however, and so are sixty percent of his officers."

It was getting more and more difficult to think they had won today. By the end of the week, it was possible the number of dead men and women was going to reach the three thousand-mark. It would not include the hundreds of wounded, the lost equipment and the ravages of what had been considered a small detour without importance several hours ago.

On the plus side, Dragon was here and so Magos Lankovar has someone to pester other than her when he wanted descriptions of Earth Bet's technology. On the downside, she had met another non-human race and one more time, the species had arrived with the firm intention to wipe them on sight. What was the problem with this galaxy that every technologically advanced-race wanted to kill them?

"I can't say I am really happy to hear that," Taylor told the soldiers in front of her. It was a massive understatement. Hundreds of people were dead because the head xenos had wanted a sword and was ready to kill everyone to hold it in his slimy effeminate hands. "We killed around, what, one hundred and twenty of the long-ears?"

"Around this number, yes Major," replied Valeriya Petrov.

Counting the wounded, that had to be a trade of one eldar life for thirty human ones. By the Simurgh, they had better not to meet these xenos in anything like near-equal effectives.

"Will the Ulm Regiment survive?" demanded Captain Eldyev. "Several of their companies weren't there today..."

"I'm told the ones who didn't ride from their garrison fort were the sick, the ill and the demoralised sinners," and given the appearance of some Ulm guardsmen, she really hoped it was an exaggeration. "I suppose the Generals of Wuhan and Nyx will decide their fate in the coming weeks. The entire system is aware there was an eldar presence in this system; now it's up to the Sector's authorities to decide what must be done."

Of course it meant that until proper forces were sent to Andes Primus and ensure any follow-up attack was too costly even for these pseudo space wizard-elves, the Lankovar expeditionary force was going to stay here and fortify the spaceport, though she could rotate the companies between the planetary duties and waiting in high orbit.

"And if the good Magos propose another detour, I suppose we will know better than to accept after that..."

* * *

 **Sergeant Gavreel Forcas**

It might be repeated a lot of times before he held his last breath on a distant battlefield, but Gavreel was going to repeat it today: high-ranked adepts of the Mechanicus were strange and half-insane.

Their obsession to rush into unexplored ruins was well-documented so Gavreel was not going to elaborate on it. One of their lesser weaknesses, looting diverse battlefields of everything attracting their attention, was less well-known but had caused uncountable issues in the last millennia. Taylor Hebert had warned him she had already seen their 'benefactor' dissect hundreds of orks in the name of the Omnissiah. Consequently, the former Dark Angel should not feel too surprised the cogboys had descended on Andes Primus to seize the corpses of the eldars and whatever weapons and xenos artefacts had not been incinerated in the battle. After all, unlike the greenskins, the eldars were undoubtedly using a form of extremely advanced technology...a pity no human sworn to Mars or Terra had ever succeeded in reverse-engineering their inventions.

Still, it was boring. Gavreel supposed he should be flattered he was considered the best choice to make sure the two unconscious eldars in stasis-coffins didn't escape, but frankly given the precautions employed, the Skitarii aboard the _Magos Laurentis_ could have replaced him. The surviving eldars had their legs and their arms bound, their bodies foamed in a sort of material nullifying Psionic abilities and their eyes were blinded by modified isolation visors. After that they were gassed with a substance which could have plunged a Great Beast into a comatose state and ultimately they had been placed in the aforementioned stasis coffins.

The Astartes Sergeant was not going to say the prisoners would never escape under his watch. It was tantamount to challenge several immemorial laws to screw the odds and make you their laughingstock. But unconscious and in a stasis field, the main risk came from outside: eldar rescue parties had an annoying tendency to do things that weren't supposed to be possible. In his opinion, it was better to kill the xenos and burn all their devices – strangely on this he was in accord with the Commissars.

Alas the Mechanicus were listening reasonable choices in M35 as much as they did in M31, and the qualifier for it could be politely described as 'never' when he was a Legionary. Proof in case, he saw a Tech-Priest escorted straight to a vault with a container full of the eldar 'spirit stones' in his mechadendrites. If he remembered correctly, these things had been worth a considerable fortune on the black market in his days...not that a loyal Legionary was supposed to know of these things, oh no.

Fortunately, after ten minutes of exacting security procedures and gene-scans proving he was truly the Space Marine he pretended to be, the eldars were placed in a high-level containment/prison area and Gavreel tried to go back to his shuttle as discreetly as his massive battle-armour authorised him.

His efforts failed long before he was in view of the flight hangars. As he went out of a magnetic elevator, he was intercepted by Questor Alena Wismer, Lankovar's second in command.

"Ah, Sergeant Forcas, I was searching for you. Come with me and read this data-slate."

Trying not to exhale a loud breath of consternation, the Legionary pretending to be a Dark Warden nodded and accelerated his pace to not be distanced by the female Questor. To his pleasant surprise, someone had visibly remembered the latest reports and for once the information was in comprehensible Low Gothic.

 _ **Karon Battle-Tank Pattern Dragon technical data:**_

 _Engine: HL 310 V12 Multi-Fuel_

 _Weight: 46 Tonnes_

 _Length: 9.00 metres_

 _Width: 3.50 metres_

 _Height: 2.44 metres_

 _Crew: 4_

 _Ground clearance: 0.48 metres_

 _Max speed on road: 49km/h_

 _Max speed off-road: 30.5km/h_

 _Autonomy: 410km (on road)/ 275km (off-road)_

 _Fuel capacity: 584 litres internal_

 _Main Armament: 'Karon Cannon' 100mm anti-armour long gun (Maximum load: 46 rounds)_

 _Secondary Armament: Heavy Bolter (x2) (Maximum load: 1000 rounds)_

 _Armour (Front/Side/Rear/Roof):_

 _Turret: 205/130/60/30_

 _Hull: 140/89/60/33_

The rest of the file was in binaric, either because the Mechanicus didn't trust him with more data, their secrecy doctrine compelled them to hide the advanced and critical data from uninitiated eyes, or they had lacked the processing time to finish their translation.

The sole image provided next to it, however, was far more sufficient to recognise the tank which had reduced two eldar machines to blazing wrecks on the planet below. Two elevators and several long corridors later, and he was in front of the real thing.

"We lack tank specialists aboard our crew," explained his guide. "In your opinion, would Guard Generals be interested to have this blessed archeotech integrated to their armoured regiments?"

Gavreel gave her back the data-slate, having memorised it entirely in a single reading.

"That entirely depends," he replied carefully, "on how many parts of this tank are compatible with the Leman Russ. The logistical officers are always keen to choose the simple solutions and finding the ammunition and the parts for two different main Battle-Tanks will not make them happy."

He was just finishing his sentence when Magos Lankovar barged into the workshop. Unlike his usual appearances, the Magos Explorator was harbouring pristine red robes with extremely elaborated cog, skull and hammer decorations completed with silver-like colours.

"Now that the funerals for my unfortunate colleague Magos Artisan Troy Alpha-Karon-1462 are over and his energy has been returned to the Motive Force, let us return to work." Mechanicus cogboys in general showed a faced of unity, but in this case the Magos was not giving even lip service to this idea. Idly, Gavreel wondered how much the two had to hate each other for the prayers and the ceremonies to be shortened to their minimal services.

"The Karon Battle-Tank Pattern Dragon is a fine piece of archeotech, and I need a preliminary analysis before sending the data to the nearest Forge-Worlds and wait their response. Sergeant Forcas?"

The former Legionary turned around the tank for several seconds before answering.

"The tank is obviously destined to non-Astartes forces. The units it was destined to replace were the Battle-Tanks of the Imperial Guard, not the Land Raiders and the Rhinos of the Adeptus Astartes. The Karon Battle-Tank is obviously faster than the Leman Russ. I can't vouch for the reliability of the engines, but if they hold on-road and off-road, the speed advantage is nearly forty percent over the Leman Russ, and they have far more autonomy, due in part to their greater internal fuel capacity."

"Is the hull shape superior to the Leman Russ?"

"In open terrain, absolutely," Gavreel answered without hesitating. "The Karon is far less elevated than the Russ and as such will present a far smaller target for long-range gun duels. In wars against species renowned for their poor precision at large distances like the orks, the Karon will be able to massacre a lot of enemies in all impunity. Since it has a smaller width too, a competent pilot will be able to manoeuvre faster and swifter to evade artillery fire. The lighter weight will allow it to cross bridges and obstacles where heavier machines will be unable to pass."

"And the weaknesses?"

"This Battle-Tank is a very offensive platform. The armour of the turret is on par with the ones equipping the Leman Russ tanks, but their frontal hull is a bit lighter. The engine is more powerful, and as a consequence its emissions on a battlefield are unlikely to not to be noticed. In an urban environment, the Karon Battle-Tank will not thrive."

Yes, whoever had the idea of this tank had wanted something to crush an enemy on a good conventional battle in the desert, hill, plains and everywhere there was the space to form a large armoured column and devastate the enemy flanks. In these conditions, the Karon tanks would savage the enemy. It was difficult to make guesses without proper simulations and war games, but Gavreel had the feeling this tank could kill four or five Russ on an open battlefield. It had killed two superior eldar machines and revealed a capacity to ignore their damned ghost-systems on Andes, and the Imperium tanks were cruder and less likely to acknowledge the threat before they were exploding.

But when the two Battle-Tanks would face each other on a terrain where it was impossible to manoeuvre, it was likely the Leman Russ would emerge the winner. The margin of superiority would not be huge in all likelihood: the Karon Tank was still a smaller target and its dual cannon was slightly better, but the Leman Russ had better protection and a structure which sole purpose was to resist abominable shocks.

"I would support the development of the Karon as a Tank-Hunter and a multi-purpose frontline platform as long as no urban or siege environment is required of them. To reconquer large areas occupied by mobile xenos or human forces, their firepower and mobility will be appreciated. In fixed positions however they are not better than the Leman Russ."

"Your conclusions are noted," replied Magos Lankovar in what looked to be his pleased tone. As always it was difficult to know with the inhuman behaviour of the Mechanicus. "I will inform Tech-Priest Dragon we will take her and her crew with us...this discovery was wasted in the mechadendrites of Troy Alpha-Karon-1462..."

"Wasn't he who discovered the ancient vaults and rebuilt the blessed machine?" inquired Questor Wismer.

"Ha! There is a ninety-four percent chance he falsified his data-reports and let his subordinates work out the problems before slapping his name on the project..."

* * *

 **Seer Maea Teallysis**

The return to consciousness was the worst she had ever felt in her life. There was an awful substance in her lungs and her mouth. The temperature was too cold. Her skin itched everywhere her armour had been torn apart. Her ears hurt. Her body was in pain.

Damn the Mon-keigh. Damn Farseer Kaeran. Damn her useless precognition abilities.

No, this wasn't fair. Her visions had showed her the big problem: insects. She and the rest of the eldars had just ignored the warning in their interpretations. Somehow, the Mon-keigh had managed to turn the insects of the damaged Maiden World without a psychic ability. The confidence of the Aspect Warriors in their ultimate victory had done the rest.

Whatever substance was on her, it dissolved rapidly and soon her eyes could watch the location where she had transported. It was...bland. The walls were rigid and grey. There was no decoration on them save a Mon-keigh skull painted in black and white.

Maea was bound to a half-inclined plane, barely able to move her head. On her left, there was a sort of container filled with green liquid and logically it was where she had been kept unconscious until moments ago. On the right, there was just a door from which hoarse voices in an unknown language echoed. Seeing that she was alone, the young Seer tried to draw energy from the surface of the Ocean and break her bounds. But her contact was intermittent and barely perceptible. A pain in her head forced her to stop before she had really time to concentrate. Something was blocking her abilities, and it was outside the prison walls.

As if her attempt had been noticed, a red-robed Mon-keigh followed by two smaller followers entered her prison.

"Prisoner 52674-E-01 is awake and appears to not suffer from any debilitating effects of the G-99 method. Vital signs good. Prisoner psyker powers efficiently disabled. Restraining null-devices and security measures are operational and functioning within acceptable parameters."

"Release me Mon-keigh and I will show you..."

One of the small red-robed creatures stuck her with a sort of whip coursing with blue energy.

"Prisoner 52674-E-01, you are not authorised to talk," chided her the taller Mon-keigh like he was her better. There was not a word uttered but one of the assistants seized a metallic object and gagged her with it.

The rest was just humiliating. Blood, hairs, nails...the Mon-keigh took everything they wanted from her. And the cell was getting more and more uncomfortable. The cold was not stopping and the itches on her skin were getting unbearable.

She didn't know how many cycles she was forced to endure the creatures' attention before it stopped. The lights were ugly and never changed luminosity. The red-robed creatures were different but all seemed to have removed their ugly pink flesh for even uglier metallic extremities.

She tried to do some spiritual meditation, trying to stop her anger from breaking out. Without her helmet and most of the protection granted by her armour, she was very close from being Path-less.

When she opened her eyes, sensing a new presence, it was a new red-robed creature which was examining her while blurting several noises at irregular intervals. This was one looked mostly flesh outwards, but her nose wasn't easily abused. Inside, the Mon-keigh was just metal and artificial parts. There was a click and the restraining device forbidding her to speak was removed before falling to the ground in a loud thud.

"I am Magos Desmerius Lankovar," said the Mon-keigh in an eldar so badly uttered it was almost torture to listen to his words.

"Do not massacre my language, Mon-keigh," she replied in his 'Gothic' brutish tongue. "I understand your way with words."

"Good, this will make us win a lot of time." The red robes opened an instant to take some new primitive devices the Mon-keigh seemed to play with. "You and your imbecilic species have given me opportunities but also great setbacks. My Forge World is trading quite regularly with Eldar Craftworlds of Obscurus and Pacificus. I want my subordinates to not shoot an eldar the second they see one...which is impossible when they believe your arrogant race wants to butcher us!"

"I don't care for your problems, Mon-keigh," Maea replied, though inside she tried to think which Craftworld had fallen so low to trade and make alliances with these metallic brutish idiots. The primitive names signified nothing to her. She would have to convince him to let her watch a star map...

"No, I don't suppose you do," hissed the creature calling itself Lankovar. "You wanted the Nebula's Shard, didn't you?"

And on this the red-robed humanoid seized a sword on his back which was indeed Elsar'bryn. Even partially cut off from her Seer abilities, Maea could feel its sheer power...though there was something strange with the aura.

Then the Mon-keigh advanced towards her and before she had the time to wonder what exactly it had in mind...it placed the handle of the sword in her fighting hand.

Maea screamed. It was like one had suddenly poured molten lava in her body. Her nerves screamed and screamed in a pain which made the suffering felt in the last cycles insignificant. She tried to tell the Sword of Vaul to disable what had to be an old Aeldari defence system but to her horror the sword refused.

Elsar'bryn had always accepted someone to bear her...and Maea was judged unworthy. In an excruciating lancing cycle, she and all the eldars were judged unworthy.

 _You are denied. You are unworthy. You are denied. You are unworthy. You are_...

When it stopped, she was half-delirious and broken.

Why? Why was one of the greatest blades forged by Vaul Himself refusing to accept Asuryani hands?

"It looks like the security systems on the sword are incapacitating eldars too," commented the Mon-keigh.

Farseer Kaeran had to have seen a thread where she was holding the sword. But why hadn't he noticed it was a failure? Why had he followed this path when it had to be evident she was a prisoner? Either she was going to have another chance to grab the Sword of Vaul or the Biel-Tan Asuryani talent had been in error on nearly every point...

"What are you going to do with me?"

The Mon-keigh made a sign of his hands which was not certainly a polite greeting.

"You will be one of my experiment subjects until your body fails. I have rarely the opportunity to dissect eldars..."

Unblinking eyes turned to the entrance of her prison.

"Prepare to reinsert 52674-E-01 in stasis with Level Black-Crimson containment procedures." There were many species which would have gloated or mocked her, but not this Mon-keigh. There was little emotion coming from this being at the moment. At best there were some shadows of indifference and her headache was becoming worse just trying to examine it.

"My allies will come to rescue me, you know."

Many times this announcement had been sufficient to terrorise hundreds of lesser species into submission. The red-robed Mon-keigh just scoffed.

"If they have a death wish, then the Adeptus Mechanicus of Mars will of course oblige them." And two more breaths, it added something even more delusional. "This galaxy is ours to explore!"

* * *

 **Colonel Karl Mack**

"...and all these brave souls are by the God-Emperor's side now, for they have fought and protected a world of the Imperium from the depredations of the xenos. Their sacrifice will be remembered for years in our hearts and our memories. In battle, we purged ourselves of our doubts. In victory, we returned to the foundations of the Guard: loyalty, determination and honour. Simple words, but ones we must never forget as we continue to fight across the stars. Andes stands, Ave Imperator!"

This was the longest speech he made in years and it left him a bad taste. Plenty of his men would be forgotten in days, like they had been by the rest of the Imperium for several years in this backwater. Still, as long as someone remembered...

"AVE IMPERATOR!" shouted thousands of guards in answer.

Karl Mack saluted in an automatic reflex the Imperium flag and watched the assembly in front of him. The spaceport of Andes Primus was unrecognisable ten days after the battle. All the corpses of both men and xenos had long disappeared, the former being granted great funeral ceremonies and the other dissolved in the swamps or recovered for experimentation by the Mechanicus. The horses' carcasses had been burned. The transports and machines which could be repaired had been towed away. The unsalvageable Chimeras, Sentinels and Tauros were rapidly dismantled or recycled and sent back to the ships in orbit.

The Mechanicus and the Guard had built six great lines of defences with bunkers, razorwire, concrete boxes and dozens of artillery defensive positions. Several hectares had already been dried up around their position. Before the battle fought against the eldars, Andes Primus had been of little importance and according to the whispers every military force of note spread by its simple existence, there had been pressure to cut the costs and reduce further the involvement of the Imperium on this world.

The xenos attack had changed that. Now Andes Primus was potentially the frontline if for whatever reason the perfidious eldars decided to attack the Nyx Sector. As the attacks of the orks were winding down, the higher authorities had immediately dispatched four regiments and demanded a new military tithe from Wuhan and Andes.

But the biggest change was the impressive muster who had been gathered as far as he could watch. Hundreds of veterans from the regiments who had fought with the Ulm cavaliers had been granted the honour to march in front of the short military parade, followed by thousands of Wuhan and Andes guardsmen. In the distance, Tech-Priests were busy elevating several vox-towers and new fortifications.

A reminder like any other that when the Imperium was provoked, it could strike back. There were dozens of magnificent banners flowing in the wind today, and the flag of the Ulm 2nd flew with them, free and defiant.

It took several hours and ceremony of protocol to complete the day after his speech. First he formally surrendered the title of Military Governor for Andes Primus to General Ondai. Then there were the medals to be granted to every soldier for their loyal service, new honours to be quotes and even a few propaganda agents of the Departmento Munitorum, always happy to make a few vid-casts to help the recruitment efforts wherever the Guard fought. Incidentally, he and nearly all of his men had now the Order of Andes Second Class and the Sentinel Medal to show at formal events. Yes, the Departmento Munitorum was more inclined to send the awards than to order a luxury yacht for their illusionary holidays.

It was a relief when he was able to say his thirty-fifth goodbye and sit in the heavy transport waiting to conduct him to orbit. His legs were strained, and he was not a young man anymore.

"Well, we are finally leaving this damned planet!" exclaimed joyously one young man of his staff as the acceleration of the engines stuck them in their harnesses. "Goodbye, glutton-mosquitoes and humid climate!"

"Oh, I'm sure the Mechanicus can find some for you..."

* * *

 **Major Taylor Hebert**

"So you have obtained the authorisations for the Ulm 2nd to join us in our adventures."

On the hololith, the image of Lankovar flickered for a second before the Magos Explorator answered.

"Yes, the Departmento Munitorum has long memories and refused to include them in the new garrison of Andes Primus. They were willing to grant them medals and a ticket off-world, but their generosity stopped there."

"I'm not surprised."

She had received her fair share of medals too, to the point it was becoming rather embarrassing and next time she would have to wear sun glasses if there was sun to reflect all this mass of polished medal. For her contribution in the fight against the long-eared eldars – whose ears were apparently real and not prosthetics – Weaver had received the Order of Andes First Class, the Xenos Hunter Honour Medal and the Sentinel Medal.

"I will await your suggestions on how to integrate these reinforcements in my order of battle."

Wonderful, more homework and bureaucracy. You might think a victory and people would stop pestering you with administrative duties, no? Perhaps she could throw it to her staff?

Truth to say, she didn't know what to do about the Ulm 2nd. All their life, these men had been trained for horse-riding duties and now their horses had to be killed thanks to the long-ears. Few regiments used animals in the Nyx Sector like the Ulm guardsmen did. In the age of the 35th Millennium, the majority of the planets had transitioned to modern warfare long ago and the logistics headquarters had refused to consider the price of buying new horses. For this case, it was understandable as the mounts would have been more expensive than a cargo of gemstones and rare ore.

"Yes, Magos. What is to be our next destination?"

"The S-4697X5T4 System. Any specific requests before we make our Warp transition in seventeen hours?"

Well, if the Magos felt generous enough to ask...

"Yes, I had this need for an insect-bodyguard..."

* * *

 **Author's note** : This will be the end of war for this act. Andes Primus is going to know peace for a while, though the seeds for further conflict have been sown between humans and eldars.

More links for support or if you want to comment on the Weaver Option:

P a treon: ww w. p a treon Antony444

Alternate History page: www .alternatehistory forum/ threads/ the-weaver-option-a-warhammer-40000-crossover.395904/


	18. Sentinel Interlude

**Sentinel Interlude**

 **Escalation Preparations**

 **Segmentum Tempestus**

 **Craftworld Biel-Tan**

 **8.613.289M35**

 **Farseer Filgonilth Sirethmoren**

The Dome of Serenity was ancient, even by his race's standards. It predated the creation of Biel-Tan, for his ancestors had used their influence, skills and power to transfer it from their great palace to the not-yet-completed Craftworld. It predated by the Fall by tens of thousands cycles, though the archives were sadly incomplete on the precise date and the name of the ancestor who had commissioned this great project.

Few artworks belonging to the noble lines of Biel-Tan could compare to the Dome. Gems of worlds long lost to the Enemy were displayed with the finest illusion-sculptures. Songs of happiness and joy resonated with the exquisite wraithbone. Star-paintings and impossible crystals coalesced to impossible heights.

Many younglings and greats elders had cried in passion before this work for thousands of cycles. It was a reminder of everything the Eldar race had mastered. It had been a light in the darkness when the Fall came.

It was just a forgotten remnant of the past, just like him.

When the Craftworld had started its long and endless journey across the stars, the Sirethmoren family had received thousands of poets and artists inside its halls, all wanting to present their greatest creations in the hope their legacy would be preserved for thousands of cycles, long after their spirit stones had been plunged into the Infinity Circuit.

Now?

Filgonilth was not sure there was a thousand eldar who had chosen the Path of the Poet in Biel-Tan halls. The same was true of the Path of the Sculptor or the Path of the Painter. The Path of the Artisan had seen its numbers crumble cycle after cycle, and soon there would be no one save a few wraithbone-singers and of course the war-artisans.

It was not the only Path which was on the edge of oblivion. The Path of Grief numbers had fallen hard after the last campaigns, the High Farseers obviously thinking more Aspect Warriors on the frontlines was better than having someone to mourn for your passing at the funeral rites. The Path of the Dreamer was almost as bad in that aspect, as the Exarchs wanted terrible blades to pursue their rebirth of the Empire, not dreamers and students of the past.

The Path of the Mariner had been entirely suborned to the Path of the Warrior. The colony and merchant ships had been replaced by threatening and weapon-brimming hulls to sustain the myriad of military expeditions Biel-Tan launched across the stars.

He could have continued for cycles and cycles. Paths broken and discarded in the name of efficiency and war, but it could have lasted endless cycles and he was not a youngling anymore. He had tried to continue on the Path of the Seer in the hope a thread could be found where his descendants broke this endless circle of bloodshed and violence.

He had not found one.

Filgonilth Sirethmoren had not found the thread he searched, and cycle after cycle he had been forced to redirect his energy finding solutions and desperate measures to stop problems some Seers, Farseers and Autarchs of Biel-Tan had created in their arrogance and their short-sighted views.

Protecting the Craftworld was increasingly difficult. In the last thousand cycles, twenty-seven major invasions of Biel-Tan had to be stopped by guile and force of arms. Only three had been executed by the Primordial Annihilator.

Their enemies were growing strong and Biel-Tan was weak. Yes, on the outside the galaxy knew their formidable hosts but few realised how many souls these endless wars had cost them. The green brutes and the humans could afford gigantic armies for their conquests. Eldar could not. The halls of Biel-Tan were empty. Filgonilth was the last of his distinguished line, and he was for his beloved Enneriya, his two sons and his daughter had never returned to the Craftworld after a 'purge' went dramatically wrong on a corrupted Maiden World – the consolation he had been able to save their spirit stones had been really hollow in the end.

And now he was the last survivor of his line, waiting under the Dome of Serenity, in a seat which should have gone to one of his five elder brothers...but they had also perished hundreds of cycles ago.

"You always look so pensieve, is it a Farseer obligation?"

"Jirkanith," Filgonilth smiled, "how kind of you to remind me of my high and dignified behaviour."

"Someone has to, no?"

Autarch Jirkanith Maloskilen jumped fluidly next to him. His friend had a few more scars to add to his copious collection, he noticed.

"I suppose," he nodded with a large smile. "It has been too long. I was not aware you were back, otherwise I would have organised something..."

"I just came back from Ry'Tyr, at the Joint High Council demand," the green eyes of the friend he had known from the time they were playing in the gardens together was melancholic. "This was really sudden, otherwise believe me old friend, I would have warned you of my return."

"That I can believe," the Farseer dramatically added after a moment, "you always enjoy drinking my oldest nectars."

"That was only this time on Dyuliryth," chuckled his friend. "You're not going to let me forget it, aren't you?"

"Of course not!"

Both laughed together and Filgonilth realised how badly he had missed it. How long had it been since he hadn't laughed? He was rather sure the answer was 'too long'...

Not stopping the bantering, the Autarch and the Farseer left the Dome of Serenity and marched for one of the many offices he was using.

"I suppose you're going to return to war before this cycle is cycle is complete."

Jirkanith's lips tightened and his visage expressed many emotions before settling on disappointment.

"No, old friend. The High Farseers and the rest of the High Council have kept it under the veil of secrecy, but I have been relieved of my command."

Filgonilth fears were reignited by this sentence. His friend was one of the best strategist-tactician Biel-Tan had available – the reason why unlike Filgonilth, he had never punished for his non-conformist opinion. If the High Council was really so far gone to remove one of his best from the frontlines, things were direr than the threads of Fate implied.

"I suppose the motive they gave for this removal was not the true one."

Jirkanith Maloskilen smiled.

"On the last psy-recording I was given, there is a commendation and an affirmation I deserve some rest after my glorious victories of the last cycles."

"Naturally," only someone who was unaware of the manipulations of the High Farseers would believe it for a heartbeat or two.

"In private though, they have lambasted me for my tactics and my tolerance. I don't attack fast enough. I don't massacre enough Mon-keigh for the High Farseers' taste. I am too prudent. I don't believe in the Rebirth of our glorious Empire."

The Autarch shook his head in resignation.

"I have done what I could to mitigate the excesses, but my replacement is a fire-soul, one of those who believe the sun is shining in the crystal excrements of the High Farseers and that all life is destined to be mud under our feet. We will be lucky if half of the host is alive when victory will be announced."

More lives lost on the altar of Khaine, then. Young lives which had lived mere hundreds of cycles before being thrown in the inferno where the Bloody-Handed reigned and She-Who-Thirsts waited for a chance to swallow their souls.

"I wasn't aware the situation was that bad," but then how could he, when the powerhouses of the Craftworld had decided to keep him away from any major war. "We rely too much on our Farseers and our militarist attitude to solve every danger."

And yes, he was aware of the irony that he, a Farseer, was advocating a decrease of his Path's influence in the deciding circles.

"It is too late to evict them, my friend. They may have their flaws, but they thought to secure the loyalty of the next generation coming after them. New younglings who will know nothing but unending war against all the space-faring species of the galaxy, because we attack them first and only request talks when they have repulsed our first assaults."

Jirkanith took a small golden necklace to observe it before sighing loudly.

"I was offered a possibility to save the honour of my family, of course."

"Of course."

The two old eldars exchanged dubitative glances. Farseer and Autarch, they had the dubious honour of being the last of their lines, their brothers, sisters, parents and relatives sacrificed in one of the countless wars began by Biel-Tan on Maiden Worlds no eldar had ever set foot since the Fall. After freeing worlds they hadn't the first colonist to settle, 'honour' was a world which lost most of its signification.

"I was offered to lead a Twilight Spear against the humans."

Filgonilth blinked in incomprehension. A Twilight Spear was the answer Biel-Tan had established when one of their scouting forces was beaten. Like many things imagined by the Exarchs today, it was crude and unimaginative. A larger force was mustered and every enemy who had partaken in the destruction of the first Asuryani group was to be thoroughly annihilated.

"It is just the...eighteenth we have to dispatch in the last hundred cycles?"

"Nineteenth. And this time it was a terrible defeat. The survivors consist in a heavily wounded Dire Avenger from a one hundred and twenty-four Crystal-Search Blade."

The old Farseer whispered a prayer for all these souls which were now lost, never to return to the protecting embrace of their homes.

"Who was the Farseer in charge?

"Vyrion Kaeran."

It was a name he unfortunately had not to make a lot of effort to remember.

"Him," it took a lot of control to prevent anger and loathing from engulfing his thoughts.

"Yes, he was apparently searching for a Sword of Vaul and was murdered by a Champion of Pestilence controlling millions of corrupted insects."

"Knowing this arrogant magorix, I prefer thinking he misled completely the threads of fate and charged in a new fight before evaluating properly what he was opposed and the nature of the object he searched."

Swords of Vaul were by their very nature priceless heirlooms of Eldar history. Each blade the Craftworlds had recovered was in one of the most secure redoubts of their species...and as such it was unlikely humans of all races would have found one.

Unlikely, not impossible, but still.

Sword of Vaul or not, he had not need to use his powers to know the reaction of the High Farseers.

"I suppose the father and the brother of this incompetent Farseer found excellent excuses for this fresh disaster and used all promises and favours to convince the Council...and they also released some new Aspect Warriors to create this Twilight Spear."

"If you weren't a Farseer, old friend, I would recommend you for a Command Path," Jirkanith raised the golden necklace in mock salute. "Yes, this is exactly what happened. I refused, naturally, but they had a few other Autarchs and High Farseer Manorith volunteered to lead the force."

One of the Seventeen in person? They really intended to start a war...again. And they wanted to do it at a time when most of the Biel-Tan Tempest of Blades was fighting all over the galaxy. Twilight Spears were easy to cast, but were terribly difficult to recall in the best of cases.

"How many Aspect Warriors are we talking about here?"

"Between six and eight hundred, assuming the Kaeran promises are not dust in the wind."

This would mean armoured support and certainly a few great warships to transport them.

"This is going to weaken our reserves once more," and the he cast the runes, concentrating on the information he had just been aware of. Millions of threads began to unfurl under his guidance...but not for long. Suddenly he began to feel the threads disappear by the thousands.

This was not a Shadow Point. At least he didn't think so. It was more a series of flashes and something repulsing the powers of the Ocean.

"I have difficulties seeing the outcome," he admitted, stopping the threading of the fates. "Where was Kaeran killed?"

"Osuthanil."

This was absolutely not what he wanted to hear.

"This is a region where many bases of the _Yngir_ 's servants were found!"

"Are you sure?"

Filgonilth fixed his old friend with an intense expression.

"I can see you the appropriate constellations if you want, but I remember many worlds close to Osuthanil were functioning as command centres for the purges of the silver metal husks. Of course, most of these advanced bases didn't survive the Fall..."

Suddenly, he feared the worst. This whole disaster engineered by Kaeran was a cloudy affair, and they had only the one of a wounded warrior for their information resource. They were close to Necron grave-worlds, and the Primordial Annihilator may be at work.

"We must prevent the Twilight Spear from being sent."

"Impossible," Jirkanith countered. "The Kaeran family will never accept, we are both disgraced elders and letting the humans get away with the murder of one our forces would enrage beyond measure the ranks of the Aspect Warriors. Neither I nor you would avoid banishment if we tried to expose this in public."

"Then I think it is time to...use our resting time to travel to new worlds and enjoy a few cycles of discovery. I'm sure the High Council will be thrilled to know we are not here to protest against their plans to erase everything the Asuryani should stand for..."

"When are we leaving?"

* * *

 **Beyond the Light of the Astronomican**

 **The Veiled Region**

 **8.502.289M35**

 **Missy Byron**

Vista had seen many weird events created by parahuman time powers. It was sort of unavoidable when you had Clockblocker in your team.

But the power of her teammate in the Wards had been limited by design. Clockblocker could freeze time, but he had to touch the object, the human or whatever target he had in mind. It didn't matter if the contact had been made by feet, hand or the rest of his body. It didn't matter if he wanted to freeze a bug or Leviathan. It worked. But it was 'only' freezing time, and for an indeterminate period between thirty seconds and ten minutes, with no control over the duration. It was great for manipulating the battlefield in combination with her space-manipulation powers, but it wasn't a high-tier ability and he couldn't do time loops.

That domain had been the specialty of Gray Boy, of the Slaughterhouse Nine. And since apparently the Fairy Queen had killed him, the threat of this monstrous power had been thought extinguished.

The PRT and the whole world had been wrong. Scion had time loop-powers...and now they saw the result from the observation bridge of Contessa's warship.

The Moon exploded, destroyed by a series of golden explosions. It lasted a good ten minutes and in the last seconds, the satellite of the Earth unleashed was losing more and more of its integrity until asteroids and fragments were left.

And then it began again. Suddenly, the celestial aster was whole again and golden explosions resumed. And the cycle of destruction started again. The Moon was in an eternal time loop, breaking most laws of causality and physics, doomed to be destroyed hundreds of thousands times until, according to Contessa, the last shard of Scion the Murderer ran out.

Missy Byron, also known as the Ward Vista, would have loved to say Earth Bet had known a better fate than the Moon. She couldn't.

As cruel as the time loop was, her planet of birth had been transformed into a world-spanning desert as Scion had dried the oceans and seas, ravaged cities and wiped out resistance to his mindless carnage.

It had only been five years since she woke up, but there was nothing left of Earth Bet but bad memories. Technically, it was possible to breath and the temperatures were not unbearable, according to the colossus standing behind her. But there was little water and leftovers of parahumans shards plagued air and earth. While she had been offered to go down and see with her own eyes, Earth was now a graveyard and billions had perished.

There was nothing left of her parents and her friends. The only recognisable things were the pyramids and a few monuments lucky enough to survive the holocaust done by Scion.

"So Scion managed to cross the dimensions and bring Earth Bet and the Moon in this reality in order to anchor its presence."

"Indeed," replied in an emotionless voice Contessa. "The entity didn't survive the last fights, but by then too much damage had already been done. The Moon was stuck into a time-loop when he tried to imprison the Simurgh. As for Earth, he figured by the fiftieth hour that it was far simpler to remove every source of water than to kill every man, woman and children one by one."

Vista had to bite her tongue and ask if this was really the best Cauldron could come up with. These guys had the ability to give powers and particularly powerful ones, at that. They had a lot of influence, enough to manipulate the Protectorate. And for all their actions, they had still been caught with their pants down, like Clockblocker would joke. That did not give her a good opinion of the Thinker and what her new goals were. Yes, they had saved her – she had seen the images of things that were by all descriptions demons and monsters – but she didn't trust Cauldron at all.

How could one trust them when their motto seemed to be 'doing the wrong things for the wrong reasons, ally with the wrong people and cause the wrong outcome'?

"Thanks to the courageous sacrifice of a strike team in a future which never will be, we have managed to stall the plans of the Demons of Change for the time being. Earth Bet is gone, but the Imperium lives and must be prepared to counter the plans of Chaos."

Missy frowned and put her hero mask on to hide her disgust.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I like very much being a part of your plans."

Judging by how the 'Space Marines' stood still next to her on the bridge, they certainly didn't voice their opposition to the member of Cauldron a lot.

"Your parahumans are..."

"Yes, yes, we are invaluable, I listened to your speech the first time," Missy did her best not to scowl. "But the truth remain I don't trust you, I didn't trust Cauldron when your existence was revealed in the first place and I am ready to bet the other parahumans which were displaced before the final apocalypse are not trusting you either."

There was no hesitation, no emotion and no indignation in Contessa's answer. For like the thousandth time, Vista wondered how much their powers had screwed mentally their owners. Personally, she felt like she had not changed at all since her trigger...but then she would think that, no? It was possible, as much as she didn't want to admit it, that Contessa had always been a cold-hearted bitch. It was also possible her abilities had transformed her in this sort of killing machine invested in her mission.

"For better or for worse, you certainly agree the Imperium is the last bastion of stability in this galaxy."

"Yes, because every other thing out there is worse!" retorted hotly the Ward of Brockton Bay. "Every advanced civilisation worth the name is using travel across Hell to go at faster-than-light speeds! Between the green idiots and the millennia-old horrors, anything created by humans can only be compared favourably but that don't mean I want to serve entire organisations which make the Empire 88, Lung and Coil look like choir children!"

Missy shook her head in annoyance.

"The PRT had its faults, including being unwilling puppets of your organisation. But at least they tried to keep the peace and arrest criminals. The few things I've learned about the Imperium tell me quite clearly they don't hesitate to wipe out civilisations when the commander of a 'crusade' feels a bit trigger-happy with his space cannons!"

And the least said about the figures leading said Empire, the better. Hitler was a crazy lunatic loon, but compared to certain important figures of the High Lords, the man was just eccentric and tolerant.

"Why don't you speak to the other parahumans and see if they agree with you?"

Vista fixed Contessa, trying in vain to guess what the woman was thinking. In the end, she renounced. Contessa was just presenting an inhuman front.

"Who will be present at this...reunion?"

"Dragon and Weaver – the latter you may remember her as Skitter – must already have arrived to the S-4697X5T4 System. Clockblocker and Leet are both on their way too. And in addition to you, I also keep Doormaker in stasis."

Vista's head burst in relief. Clockblocker and Dragon were more than fine; they unlike Contessa had proven they could act like true heroes. Skitter and Leet...the latter was a cosmic joke and the former was an insect warlord, but they weren't Empire and could probably be reasoned. Lung or one of the big S-class supervillains would have been a total disaster...

There were still large zones of shadow which worried her.

"You said there were nine parahumans who had survived the destruction of Earth Bet. Unless I have forgotten how to count, that doesn't make nine. And where the hell is the Simurgh, the Moon is getting pulverised but I don't see a feather indicating she was there!"

Dragon, Skitter, Clockblocker, Leet, Contessa, Doormaker and her; the count was good for seven, not nine.

"Shadow Stalker has her own path to follow...and I fear the ninth has already fallen to Chaos. As for the Simurgh, we do not have any clue. She may have perished..."

"Or she is waiting in a nice planet for the opportunity of screwing with parahumans and non-parahumans, raising more monsters and pushing millions to madness." It was the Simurgh; it was best to always prepare for the worst. Just ask the Swiss how it paid to underestimate that winged bitch.

"Let's go to this S-thing System then..."

* * *

 **Segmentum Solar**

 **Solar Sector**

 **Solar System**

 **Holy Terra**

 **0.380.290M35**

 **Sophia Hess**

Training to become an elite assassin of the Officio Assassinorum was an unimaginable succession of suffering and hellish training.

There were many military and parahuman organisations on Earth bet which were famous for threatening their soldiers with exercises with real ammunition, shooting those who failed a session or leaving you naked in a freezing environment.

The Officio Assassinorum of the Imperium of Mankind began at this level of insanity and increased the pressure from there. On her first day, Sophia had completed an obstacle course where she could very well have lost her life, shadow powers or not. There had been flamethrowers and plasma wires every five metres, spikes and barbed wire had been covering the ground in generous quantities and after five minutes, the sadist operators began to pour an airborne toxin.

This had been the morning wake-up, so to speak. Afterwards, she had been told to climb a skyscraper covered in a sort of glass material. No, she hadn't been granted any rope or the security essentials professional mountaineers took for granted. The authorised 'help' had been two daggers and that was it. Her lungs had been in fire when it was over, and the less said about her muscles, the better.

In the afternoon, she had taken her first drive lessons aboard a sort of flying shuttle-jet. The instructions had been limited to 'you're on your own'...and then she had been forced to do three laps in a labyrinth, pursued by missiles and fired upon by laser turrets. The driving lesson had ended with a monumental crash she had only survived by becoming intangible...and then her new teacher had placed her in a sort of torture cage, before teaching her the language of High Gothic.

The next days had come with more insane activities, trials and challenges. However, the 'day' part was a misnomer, really. Clade-Primaris Xanaria Lythis was not hesitating to unleash the hellish 'morning alarm' in the middle of the night and too often Sophia had collapsed in exhaustion after over seventeen or eighteen hours of non-stop strenuous obstacle courses and lessons.

By the tenth 'day', she had begun to lose count of the day-night cycle and the number of tests she had performed. Survival was all what mattered and the different environments taxed her muscles to the limit. Inside the Assassin temples, every type of landscape could be recreated and this offered a crazy number of possibilities to her murderous mentor. Carry a bag full of metal on your back and run in a swampy environment? Check. Transport half your weight in water across a desert? Check. Find your way in a maze similar to a warship corridors before hundreds of bombs went off? Check.

Worse, every trial, every order and every lesson had only two outcomes: failure – death – or success – which led to new trials and tests. It was not a game and the dangers weren't simulated in the slightest. Sophia was the only apprentice Xanaria Lythis taught, but there were other Callidus instructors in the vast complex they called a Temple. And while her 'professor' generally began their sessions with no one else in sight, there were from time to time opportunities to see girls and young women try the same sessions she had just completed.

Most of the time, they died and while Sophia didn't know them, their deaths were bloody enough to empty her stomach in the next seconds, with the terrible feeling it might have been her down there being impaled on blades or roasted in the burning pits.

At least, she had vomited or cried the first times. But session after session, it had no longer been the case.

Sophia wasn't sure when she had first realised her mentor-master was changing her. Worse, the feeling she was changed had not horrified her at all. But it was like...there was something missing. In the sessions after this point she had not thought much of it, but it was when Xanaria had whispered to her she was a blade destined to eliminate the enemies of the God-Emperor that Shadow Stalker had understood how deeply the changes had affected her.

Sophia had heard the words and she had felt _good_.

It shouldn't have been like that. She was Shadow Stalker. She was a predator, something redoubtable yes, but not something one wielded. She was her own mistress, she was a predator...and yet the words felt good, the prospect of facing great and dangerous enemies. Somehow, electricity wasn't bothering her anymore. She had always been in excellent health but this new hell-training had given a body of pure muscle and her strength, her speed and the rest of her capacities were largely at the Olympic-level now.

They were changing her and she hadn't found a single thing she could do against it. Since her sessions left too little time for propaganda and the like, she supposed they forced her to swallow their doctrine when she was unconscious – certain canticles she had recited after her first climbing and hot pursuits of the day had come out of nowhere. But it was so invasive, so good...and each time she said the words, it felt so right. For those that defy the Imperium, only the Emperor can judge your crimes. Only in death can you receive the Emperor's judgement.

When she had said 'yes' to the fatidic question, she had thought about escaping at the first opportunity. But there was no exit which was not guarded by things able to vaporise you in a millisecond. Courtesy of her shadow powers, the defences now included big flashy lights. There would be no shadows to escape.

The alarm screamed and she jumped out of her small resting place before a second thrill had the time to sound. Shower, clothes and a green paste serving as breakfast were done in a couple of minutes and the moment she closed the door of the space serving as her quarters, Xanaria was waiting for her. Immediately, Sophia bent the knee, not wishing to endure another obstacle course for her lack of respect.

"Two minutes and twenty-nine seconds. Acceptable. Who are we, Apprentice?"

"We are the killing tool of the Imperium, Master. We live to honor the Callidus Temple and die to serve the Emperor."

"What is to be Callidus?"

"To assume the shape of the accursed and deliver death from the purity within you – that is to be Callidus, Master."

"Good, very good, rise Apprentice, and follow me."

The pace the Clade-Primaris imposed today was rather slow – though Sophia was sure before she came here she should have sprinted to not be distanced.

Like most days, the visage of Xanaria had changed: her eyes were now a deep black and her hairs were long and black. She still had the skin-tight black uniform of the Assassinorum on her, however.

The room they entered after ten minutes was not one she had come before – at least not that she remembered. Unlike most of the temple, the walls were painted white and the equipment dispersed everywhere screamed medical facility. She wasn't able to say how half of it functioned, but between the vials, the tubes of bright green liquid and the prosthesis, the role of this room was obvious.

"It seems we are quite a bit early," without warning the traits of Lythis shifted back to one of the appearances she took to train her: blonde hairs in a braid, light blue eyes – the red lenses and the head-part of the uniform were not worn today – and she was quite a bit taller. "It will give us some time to discuss the hierarchy of the Temple. First, congratulations you aren't any longer an Apprentice-neophyte."

"Err...thanks," she replied but inside she felt a bit of displeasure. Everything she had done until now was the training of a neophyte. It was not a morale-booster.

"Apprentice-neophytes are also called Apprentices of the Tenth Level, formally. As the name implies, there are ten levels in your Apprenticeship, with the tenth being the lowest and the first the highest. Once you are accepted as Apprentice of the First Level, your Master – me, in your case – can nominate you to the Grand Master at any moment to undertake the final trial: an official assassination mandated by the High Lords of Terra.

You are still far from this point, but you have climbed the first steps and you are now an Apprentice of the Ninth. And it leads us to a new trial today, one where genetics prime over skill and fortitude."

This wasn't reassuring at all. How did you manipulate genetics in your favour?

Like a queen of blades, Xanaria Lythis went to one of the containers and after taping a complicated code, drew a vial of black liquid and went back to show her the object.

"In this vial, there is a powerful drug the First Siress Callidus invented several thousand years ago. We call it Polymorphine. It is this drug which allows every Callidus Assassin to transform into a million different appearances and infiltrate the enemy ranks under a friendly appearance."

The ability was not that much a surprise after everything she had observed in the Temple...so this drug gave the Imperial Assassins a powerful Changer-like power.

"What is the cost?"

"The cost, my Apprentice, is the simple truth that the majority of humanity doesn't react well to this drug. And Callidus Assassins are Callidus Assassins because we have the Polymorphine. It is the heart of all our tactics, doctrine and assassination abilities. Whether you are charged to kill a Traitor Governor or a Space Marine, use of Polymorphine is paramount."

Okay, now she felt anxiety.

"Men are by their hormonal balance and their lack of flexibility unable to cope with more than five transformations in their entire existence, which is why we are recruiting only girls. But if the failure rate of the men in the first generations was nearly one hundred percent, this doesn't mean there can't be complications."

"Complications...Master?"

"Yes, complications. Approximately ten percent of the Tenth Level candidates develop lethal allergies to the Polymorphine after a dose is injected in their veins the first time. Another thirty percent have their bodies rejecting the drug between the second and the tenth dose. Ten percent more have their body break down before the end of the first year. It is why the procedures of the Callidus Temple are only second to the Culexus Temple. We often do not hesitate to make extensive manipulations in the genotype of entire planets to have the thousands of young girls we need. You are an exception in this regard, for you are quite a bit older than most recruits and do not come from one of our main recruitment sectors."

This was crazy. She had no idea how many apprentices were killed in the trials she had survived, but it had to be a lot. She had no idea of the real numbers, but they had to be high, sixty-seventy percent easily. And now the Clade-Primaris was telling fifty percent of the best candidates were failing...because their very body failed them? This was more insane than the first trials added to each other...

"Traditionally, the first dose of Polymorphine is injected at the start of the Ninth Level..."

A door opened and two massive servants equipped in heavy black armours dragged a young red-haired woman by the arms. Judging by the countless places where her skin had turned blue and the dozens of wounds, it was almost a miracle she was breathing.

"I have decided this will be your first test for the Ninth Level," declared Xanaria Lythis. "While some experienced assassins think they can keep their birth appearance for Temple affairs, my experience is totally against this sort of emotional weakness. We are Imperial Assassins and we use everything in our arsenal to eliminate our targets."

The fingers which touched her lips and her cheeks were lukewarm, but the words conveyed with the touch were icing her to her very soul.

"You will abandon your first mortal shell. Together, we will forge your new one...when you will leave this room, you will have given everything to the Officio Assassinorum. Your looks, your body...and your name."

The wounded girl – certain an apprentice given her muscles and her lack of regular Callidus uniform – regained consciousness and tried to escape the bounds of the armoured guards, but in pure loss. Bound and gagged, the red-haired girl was placed on a sort of operation table, unable to escape her fate.

"Sophia, remove your clothes."

She obeyed before a thought of protestation came. The sort of black sportswear-uniform was abandoned on the cold floor as were her boots.

"Is the drug going to hurt?"

"Atrociously," replied Xanaria. "Reshaping the human body is hardly something painless, and one never forgets the first time. Now concentrate. I want you to take the appearance of this failure. Assimilate all traits, study every detail of your enemy...and change!"

The bite of the vial-syringe entering contact with her blood brought her a gasp in the first couple of heartbeats.

This was nothing however compared to the ocean of agony which engulfed her five heartbeats later. This was like she had just been poured poison in her lungs, fire in her legs and each bone, muscle and organ in her body was hammered by a mad scientist.

The image of the red-haired girl's body was in her head, but as bones and muscles shifted Sophia screamed in agony. She saw darkness, maybe she was hallucinating? There were tendrils of light, two vast...things...coursing with energy and so vast...

 **[ADDITION]**

 **[CHANGE]**

 **[COMPLETION]**

There was a last spike of raw, unbelievable agony and then it stopped.

"Seven seconds, exceptional," and for the first time in her training, Sophia heard the voice of Xanaria Lythis carry hints of respect in it. "There are several apprentices of the First Level slower than you, my apprentice."

Sophia stood slowly, watching the changes the Polymorphine had given her body. Her black skin had disappeared like it had never existed, replaced by a white similar to the one exhibited by the Clade-Primaris. Her hairs were now a brilliant shade of red, and when she looked in one of the mirrors present in the room, her eyes were a nearly-transparent blue. Her breasts were a bit bigger and she was taller now, her muscles a bit more developed. She felt stronger, more in control.

"You have a last task to complete the change."

A dagger was thrown in the air and she caught it without looking. What was her teacher implying? Then her eyes turned to the bound woman she had just turned into the perfect copy. Sophia hesitated.

"Who are we, apprentice?"

"We are the killing tools of the Imperium," and her blade cut the throat of the failed apprentice. Blood flowed on the heavily beaten skin and the breaths of her victim grew erratic. The light in the pale blue eyes dimmed before vanishing.

A new appearance sealed in blood. She knew there was no return from this point. They had broken everything in her and now the only question was how long they would spend tempering the blade before they declared her ready.

A roll was placed in her hands. On it were thousands of names, some amusing, some awful and many which weren't even for women. In eight heartbeats, she made her choice.

"This one."

"An original choice," Xanaria Lythis judged, "but one no one has taken until now. I give you half an hour to adapt to your new body before starting the next phase of your training. Your new clothes are here..."

This was not a Callidus skin-tight uniform, but was beginning to look like one, with the only non-black shade being a few green inscriptions and a brilliant 'nine'. The cloth espoused her new unfamiliar body and she felt colder than ever.

"You are CA-608MQ17XL-9, Elena Kerrigan, Apprentice of the Ninth Level, Officio Assassinorum. The real training begins now."

* * *

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Smilodon Trench Sub-Sector**

 **Andes System**

 **7.534.289M35**

 **Tech-Priest Dragon Richter**

According to the psychological books she had read after several crazy debates on PHO, Dragon knew there were five stages of grief. The first step was denial, which was followed by anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

If some day they found a way to return to an Earth Bet which wasn't ashes and dust, Dragon would publish an article to affirm it didn't apply to parahumans.

Or at least, that it didn't apply to Taylor Hebert.

The denial when she had announced the ruin of their homeworld had only lasted a few seconds – she had sufficient evidence and the insect-mistress apparently had respected her words enough to believe her sum-up of the post-Behemoth disaster. Of bargaining and depression, she hadn't yet seen a single trace. For the moment Weaver was stuck to the status 'full-blown rage' and there was no sign she intended to change her mind about that any time soon.

You might think the next best thing to ten days was sufficient to calm down, but in the case you subscribed to this opinion, you hadn't met the former warlord of Brockton Bay. Taylor Hebert had sworn to kill Scion six hundred and thirty-four times in her presence, and the rest of her death threats had been so inventive and nasty some of the soldiers standing in the vicinity were whistling in appreciation.

This was at moments like this Dragon thought the system of classification imagined by the PRT and the popular opinion about which powers were 'useful', 'cool' and 'dangerous' needed a deep reform. In her wrath, Weaver had extended temporarily her mastery's range by nearly one hundred per cent and she had reports of insects behaving weirdly nearly two kilometres away all over the Guard transport ship.

Her new superior in the Mechanicus, Magos Desmerius Lankovar, had profusely congratulated her for carefully locking away the beetles and other dangerous nasty creatures before her first serious talks with Hebert. Insect-shaped humanoid faces buzzing and screaming were disturbing when you saw them, but hardly dangerous. Dragon had really no wish to discover what the warlord once known as Skitter could do in space, a very small area perfect for using her powers in vicious and devastating ways.

"At least you avoided alcohol," Dragon said as the young woman had finished demolishing a training room with nothing bigger than a laspistol and a few dozen flies.

"I'm the daughter of a dockworker," the reply was not long in coming from the middle of the war zone Taylor Hebert had transformed the training grounds into. "I saw enough friends of my father drunk to know alcohol solves nothing...and besides have you tried to drink what the Imperial call alcohol?"

The Tinker nodded, acknowledging the point. Wine and other grape-related beverages had not survived the millennia. Amasec and the other 'alcoholic' drinks might look like wine, beer or liquor if you didn't glance too long, but they weren't, not really. The ingredients used for their creation were mostly issued from the future-chemical industry and the taste...well Dragon was not the best judge but she was sure the Eastern Coast of North America would have risen in rebellion if their drinks had been replaced by their M35-equivalent. To call them disgusting was complimenting these drinks.

Taylor Hebert leant against the wall and most of the insects dispersed.

"Why are you here, Dragon?"

"Hmm...estimating how much damage the other Tech-Priests will need to restore it to its initial state?"

The chuckle she received in return was genuine, albeit a bit forced.

"No, I mean...why have you stayed with Lankovar? The moment they were many warships in orbit, you could have left...I know the Mechanicus is as far removed from 'good' and 'heroism' you can possibly dream..."

This was something she had thought a lot about, really. There were many reasons in the end to follow this course, ranging from the logical and pragmatic to the idealist.

"You are right, I could have escaped their vigilance. But my contribution with rebuilding the Karon Battle-Tank would have ensured a high bounty on my head. I don't exactly enjoy the idea of being hunted across this galaxy, not when I haven't the slightest idea to return to the one where we were born. I must also watch you over...the Simurgh alone knows what you will do if you don't have someone to oversee your actions."

"I am not that irresponsible..."protested Weaver. Dragon thought it was better to return a bland look and move on from there. "Speaking of the Simurgh, the Endbringers?"

"Behemoth and Leviathan were confirmed destroyed by Scion before I arrived in this dimension. I don't know if the Simurgh received the same treatment. It's entirely possible her annihilation was confirmed minutes later, she was never the most powerful of the Endbringers..."

"No, just the one obsessed with mind-games, with plans including huge parts of sadism, psychological warfare and eldritch horrors." Taylor Hebert sighed while trying in pure loss to comb her black hairs. "Better to assume the Simurgh is alive. I won't accept she is dead until I see the corpse and order my bugs to devour it...just to be sure, you understand."

Yes, with any other opponent, Dragon would have it called paranoia...but this was the Simurgh they were talking about.

"Anyway, I will be of this expedition for a couple of years, I think. The sudden all-out attack from the long-ears has proved the data-bases I was able to read had glaring black holes about the state of this universe. And for best or worse, the Mechanicus is one of the best options we have to one day travel back to a friendly M3-Earth which isn't a dystopian nightmare."

"Couldn't you try to reform the Mechanicus by yourself? You were idolised by tens of thousands and recognised as the greatest Tinker of the world..."

Dragon tried not to look too please with herself at Weaver's compliment.

"I think you severely underestimate the size of the problem, but I thank you for the vote of confidence." She shook her head in a motion she didn't require. "The Mechanicus has laws, traditions, institutions and codes against innovation and rapid change. It doesn't matter right now whether they were established for right or wrong reasons; they are in place and to change them you need to be on top of the system. I am still years away from assimilating a significant percentage of the Imperium technological base and afterwards the tools in my possession would still need to be adequate. Best case is, I would need to convince a Fabricator or a High Magos to let me rule his Forge-World in all but name...and I don't think I can emphasize how loud the old red robes would scream if I ever propose that."

"If changing the system from the inside isn't possible...it would be best to start from scratch, no?"

Dragon had considered this scenario already. There was just a tiny problem with that.

"For this to work, I would need a planet with abundant mineral resources, and certainly the beginning of a workforce receptive to the idea of reform. A larger tech-base available wouldn't hurt too. And colonising a planet is not cheap. In fact, buying the planet in the first place is not cheap. You might get one if you get to retire a Lord Commander Militant...in a century or two."

The mistress of insects and arthropods of all kind grimaced.

"I won't deny they are more inclined to give me medals when I kill their enemies than selling me planets at discount prices..."

An internal chronometer informed her 'Tech-Priest Dragon Richter' had to return to the _Magos Laurentis_ for several meetings and other brainstorming sessions – which quite unofficially were boring as hell for an AI like her and there was no forum to moderate while they squabbled in the dark.

"Good! I must return on the cruiser, try to think about something else while I'm away. Like kissing this Asian top model you hired in your staff...you are so cute when you are watching her with dove eyes..."

Dragon had to avoid some rubble sent at her and left the training room in a hurry. Idly, she activated some servitors and looked if the twelve betting pools predicting the love life of Weaver were increasing their activity.

They were.

"I swear the Imperial can be worse than PHO when it comes to smut, conspiracies and star-crossed lover stories..."

* * *

 **Beyond the Light of the Astronomican**

 **Eastern Fringe**

 **Solemnace World Engine**

 **8.617.289M35**

 **Cryptek Somatek the Patient**

Thievery had not been considered a grave crime when the Necrons had still been called Necrontyrs and hadn't the slightest idea how strange and illogical the galaxy could be. Well, as long as you stole an artefact from your social caste and the object you had robbed was less than a twentieth of the dispossessed's fortune, you might be able to get away with it.

Nobles were the exception. Overlords, Nemesors or any lesser member of the aristocracy were absolutely forbidden to steal the possessions of another noble. Whether you were a noble or not, if evidence existed you had stolen from the ruler caste, the punishment was death...and certain dynasties had invented methods to keep you in agony for a very long period of time.

Abandoning their sick and irradiated flesh had made stealing clearly an impossible task. When everyone was following the orders of the Overlord without the ability to disobey and said leaders considered thievery a honourless and sacrilegious deed, stealing was supposedly an extinct crime, a reminder how weak they had been before drinking the poisoned gift of the C'Tan.

But it seemed that in all great matters there were exceptions to the rule, and Trazyn the Infinite Collector was the one the Necrons had to accept in their ranks.

Lesser races and great thieves would steal sceptres, strange artefacts, swords, guns and minor treasures.

Trazyn the Infinite had during his last travel stolen an Ork Gargant.

Yes, a Gargant. The ultimate expression of violence for the greenskins. The war engine most galactic armies took a good look at and fled with their tail between their legs. That Gargant. And because stealing it was not sufficiently impressive, the Chief Archaeovist had decided to brink the owner of the massive machine – a Warboss of above-average size – and twenty thousand of its troops.

Had Somatek had not experienced thousands of similar situations since the process of bio-transference had made him immortal, he would have lashed out, but experience had made him realise Trazyn was Trazyn and there was no way to change his mind.

He would have just to transform eighty percent of these barbaric creatures into green paste, cut the head of the Warboss to prevent any escape attempt and cut the hearts of the runs and disable the most dangerous devices of the Gargant.

It was just a processing cycle like any other in the archives of Solemnace.

"We will move these orks on the new level and get rid of the ones which were collected sixty-one expeditions ago."

"I obey, Cryptek."

"And remove these horrors with twelve paws and the freezing breath. We got much better specimens seven expeditions ago."

It was a never-ending quest, truly. The Solemnace galleries had never stopped expanding – the World Engine aside, Somatek had manipulated time and space to create over a dozen empty pocket dimensions. There were also the wormhole-type portals allowing the Solemnace Crypteks to access over twenty worlds where the collections had been hidden in deep underground bases. And despite this, there were always forced to make choices, removing artefacts, planetary-killer devices, warships, tanks, armies of young species and the like.

Their Overlord had promised several times the collection would not be modified when the signal came for the Necron race to rise again from eternal slumber and claim total dominance of the galaxy. Somatek had his doubts. He had seen too many carcasses of ruined Tomb-Worlds to believe the reawakening would be a painless affair.

"We will move the clown-pests two levels down and..."

The familiar alarm telling Somatek something had gone wrong sounded in the galleries.

"What has gone wrong this time?" The Cryptek grumbled in a morose tone. "I sincerely hope the barriers around the Krork section aren't weakening..."

By the time he reached the command nexus, sufficient information had been sent to his data-banks for him to know it was one of the devices the Chief Archaeovist had activated recently outside of Solemnace.

"Lord Cryptek, the problem lies with the trans-dimensional connectors of the Nebula's Shard. We have confirmation of a great number of eldar life-signatures killed. The emissions of the sword are formal, there is no error possible."

"I understand."

And he did. In the name of the Silent King, what sort of madness had taken the Infinite Collector to let a Sword of Vaul in the hands of a human? These hypocrites of Eldar Farseers were always searching for them, and thanks to their sorcery-precognition, thousands could converge at any moment on your position.

"What is happening around the Nebula's Shard?"

The Chief Archaeovist had arrived, his purple cape and his decorations shining under the green artificial lights of the World Engine.

"Eldar signatures detected near the Nebula's Shard, Lord Trazyn." It was the same to say the sword had killed these arrogant creatures with long ears. It was a moment worth applauding. Anything bad which happened to the favourites of the Old Ones was good news for the Necron dynasties.

"Have they managed to recover it?"

"No, Chief Archaeovist. There was an attempt from an eldar to touch the Nebula's Shard, but it stopped quickly and the sword is back in Weaver's hands according to the latest data-flow."

Somatek delivered his report and prayed his master was going to be reasonable. The next words listened to by his sensors lessened considerably his hopes.

"So the insect-controller has certainly gained valuable Eldar specimens for my collection. Excellent!"

A series of command was given to one of the many lesser artificial intelligences of Solemnace and a map representing the eastern half of the galaxy materialised in the centre of the command room.

"I want your best extrapolation on their future destination, Cryptek," the Infinite Collector ordered.

Compared to most calculus, astronomy predictions and disaster preventions he had to solve on a day-per-day basis, this one was almost unworthy of his attention. But the Overlord had commanded, and he obeyed. To do anything else was impossible.

"If the information of the Nebula's Shard is accurate, they must be close to the System their ignorant Empire has classified as S-4697X5T4."

Then a new alert blared up, and Somatek slammed his instruments against the floor as the immense knowledge of the Necron explorers recognised the stellar data.

"And this system was one of ours before the Great Sleep, it appears. The fortress of Delphimonia...oh by the Void Dragon..."

Yes, yes he remembered precisely who exactly was in charge of this Tomb-World.

"Prepare the _Sublime Collection_ for an emergency departure," commanded Trazyn.

"Chief Archaeovist, may I remind you the Phaerakh of this world threatened to inflict a terrible vengeance on your collections if you tried to steal something from her...again?"

"But I will not journey to her fortress to acquire her relics...I go there to enlarge my collection of eldar and human specimens!"

There were times Somatek was sure the C'Tan had deliberately made the Overlord utterly and completely mad just to see the Necron nobility scream in rage. As their eternal service continued, he was more and more concerned this theory was absolutely correct.

"Orders acknowledged, the _Sublime Collection_ is being prepared for your new collecting-quest, Chief Archaeovist..."

* * *

 **Ultima Segmentum**

 **Nyx Sector**

 **Smilodon Trench Sub-Sector**

 **7.616.289M35**

 **Magos Desmerius Lankovar**

Desmerius Lankovar had returned to one of his main experimentation rooms five standard hours ago. The Warp was calm according to the Navigator, the Magos Laurentis was nearly twenty-three hours away from the translation back into reality and his Questor was competent enough to deal with the minor issues agitating the bridge's crew of a warship.

Slowly, methodically, the senior Tech-Priest analysed the Necron crystal with five new mechadendrites he had himself developed from ancient archeotech. The results were...illuminating. What could at first sight be considered a pale emerald was in reality the equivalent of a mini fusion-reactor of incredible complexity and the Necrons had somehow found a way to add a sort of data-command combining machine-spirit and targeting-auspex.

And this crystal had been gained from the dismantled wreck of a basic infantry gun. It was extremely fascinating...and frustrating, for by all physic laws, this technology was purely and simply impossible. The conservation of energy law alone should have required fusion-devices three times bigger and...

The _Magos Laurentis_ shook brutally, alarms began to scream and suddenly all the precautions he had taken in the last hours proved their worth as the crystal was immediately stored behind ten entire set of protections.

Lankovar ordered his three servitors to mount guard and activated his boosters before running to the bridge as the walls of metal shook and Tech-Priests of neighbouring labs locked their possessions. Before he was back on the bridge, a sensation crawled on his outer skin and the warship stopped shaking. At this moment, the Magos of Stygies VIII knew they had left the Warp.

"Questor, I hope you have a good reason for imposing us this emergency Warp-translation," he voiced in binaric to Wismer as he arrived on the bridge.

"I think I have, Magos," Mechadendrites pointed to a brilliant gravitic anomaly between them and the outer edge of the S-4697X5T4 System. "The Navigator detected in time this anomaly and I immediately agreed to leave the Warp before our ship and the rest of our expeditionary fleet were destroyed..."

"It has to be a Space Hulk, Magos," emitted a tertiary-second Tech-Priest. "The mass and the gravitic anomalies alone are..."

"No it is not," he cut his subordinate. It was a logical deduction, but in this case it was an error. An understandable error, but an error still.

And as the images began to arrive on the hololith, his worst simulations were revealed all too accurate. The object which had stopped their journey in the Warp was a massive orb of metal, and the insults arriving from the vox sections and the ugly decorations on it told him everything he needed to know.

"Begin to send astropathic calls for reinforcements. Inform the Imperial Guard and the Imperial Navy we have found how the orks invaded the Nyx Sector."

First the eldar attack in the Andes System and now this? The probabilities were so infinitesimal...

"The Orks have managed to salvage one of their abominable Battle-moons..."

* * *

 **Author's note** : Note that if you think the next chapters are going to be a great moment of peace between humans and other species, you aren't reading the good story (heavy grin). The problems are going to multiply for Taylor and Dragon, and the opposition is mobilising its forces...which considering parahuman powers may be a very, very bad decision. Shards thrive on conflict and Skitter was not feared in the fair city of Brockton bay because she surrendered at the first enemy met...

The other links for the Weaver Option if you want to support or comment my writing:

P a treon: ww w. p a treon Antony444

Alternate History page: www .alternatehistory forum/ threads/ the-weaver-option-a-warhammer-40000-crossover.395904/

TV Tropes: tvtropes pmwiki/ / FanFic/ TheWeaverOption


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